


Poles Apart

by Riri1342



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Masochism, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:45:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 96,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riri1342/pseuds/Riri1342
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orihara Izaya was a talented, handsome, successful military strategist, until a sneak attack killed all the people in his camp and jeopardized his own life and sanity. He is miraculously saved by the man he hates the most, the recruit with inhuman strength, and their escape ends in a godforsaken village. Here, they share the same house and, somehow, they must find a way to overcome hate and try to heal their physical and psychological wounds. Shizaya.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red

In the dead of night, a man ran at breakneck speed through a forest. 

Like a blade, a branch cut the skin, and crimson liquid started to drip from his cheek. He didn't even blink. When the smell of smoke grew in his nostrils, the pace of his steps on the decomposing leaves increased.

Consciousness flowed out from him like the blood from his injured limbs. He was ragged breath and effort; he was one with his target.

_ Find him, find him, find him _ was the mantra in his head.

_ _ *

On a quiet summer evening, two men sat in the shade of an oak, relaxing. One of them was sound asleep, his blond head resting against the trunk; the other, shorter and black-haired, was observing the wooded hills in front of them. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent of resin and grass fill his nostrils.

A loud snore made him turn toward the blonde, a smile barely appearing on his lips. "Nii-san, it's time to go," he whispered flatly, brushing his brother's shoulder with the palm of his hand.

The blonde jolted, slurring a few incomprehensible words - which sounded like _muffin_ and _don't eat it_ \- in his half-asleep state. Once he fully regained consciousness, he scratched the back of his head and muttered an embarrassed "Sorry,  Kasuka..."

Kasuka didn't reply, limiting himself to a nod of his head, but the blonde understood and smiled. They stood up, brushed the soil off their military green uniforms, and started walking through a path which meandered between sparse trees and followed a slope until the edge of a dense forest. 

They proceeded in silence, avoiding branches and trunks of secular oaks, until they reached a multitude of green tents geometrically arranged in a clearing hidden by tall trees. Ant-like soldiers went in and out of the tents, chatting and carrying steamy bowls of soup. Supper was ready in their military camp, and everybody was enjoying it after a day full of preparations. Tomorrow, they would break camp and march towards the nearest city to launch an attack to their enemies.

Most of the soldiers were veterans, but between them there were also a hundred new recruits on their first mission, including the two brothers. After years of training in the Military Academy, their supervisors had evaluated them and determined that they were ready for war. They knew that in all probability, within the next twenty-four hours only half the recruits would be sleeping in a tent and not in a mass grave. Of this fifty percent, only another half would pass the night in his own tent and not the hospital one. But, above all, none of them would be gifted with a refreshing sleep.

 

Ever since Kasuka was fourteen, he claimed to _be prepared for death_. 

The night he and his older brother knocked the majestic door of the Military Academy, begging to be let in, the bearded keeper hissed those words through his toothless mouth as a warning. Kasuka could still hear their echo in his memory, and those hollow eyes were carved in his mind like a mark of fire. But still, Kasuka decided to cross the threshold and let the old keeper ferry them through dark hallways.

Kasuka didn't know what would happen to him tomorrow. While he glanced at the taller man in front of him, who was avoiding a shrub with a clumsy jump, he realized the only thing it mattered was being at his side. His brother seemed indestructible to everyone else, but Kasuka knew his sensibility made him frail like a budding flower, made him _human_. 

_ I'll protect you, Nii-san.  _

They had almost arrived to their tent when a dozen giggling men blocked their way and approached them with defiant attitude. __

"Look, look! If it's not Heiwajima Shizuo!" one of them mocked. His dyed hair was combed in a strange hairstyle that looked like an oversized banana. While Kasuka wondered how that would fit in a helmet, his brother exhaled and slowly took off his blue sunglasses. __

"What did you destroy today, monster?" uttered another one, twisting his chubby face in an annoying smirk. Kasuka didn't even flinch, but his older brother rolled his uniform's sleeves up. __

"Hahaha, I bet even his little brother is scared by him!" 

Kasuka's black eyes were expressionless. A vein popped on the blonde's forehead. 

"True, true! That's why he is always so apathetic!" 

All of them exploded into loud laughter. 

Shizuo clenched his fists, feeling his blood boil, and a feral growl escaped his mouth. 

_ KILL, KILL, KILL, KILL THEM ALL _ . 

However, Kasuka kept his composure. Seeing that his brother was getting angry, he put a hand on Shizuo's shoulder.

"Nii-san, let's go."

Shizuo shot them a last killer glance before he turned to follow his brother, searching for an alternative path to reach their tent. He was just beginning to calm down when he heard one of the man speaking. 

"Hey! Don't you think he's a real beauty? Look at his ass! Come on, leave this monster behind and have fun with us!"

He lost it. 

As he flew at the men, Shizuo thought he didn't ask much from life. His only desire was to live peacefully, without provocations. 

Heiwajima Shizuo was indeed very prone to surrendering to those who provoked him, and this terrified him to no end. In those moments, his reasoning left, replaced with a savage and uncontrollable rage. He believed that a monster dozed inside of him, providing him with an inhuman strength able to destroy everything and everybody who dared to cross his path when it awoke. This relentless lack of control over his rage and power led him to fear bonds with other people, making him close himself in his solitary shell. Only Kasuka remained by his side and, although he said he didn't fear him at all, Shizuo always worried about hurting him accidentally. 

From his earliest memory, Kasuka was his family and shelter. They grew up together and, still together, they left their homeland to join the army. Shizuo firmly blamed himself for the need to leave. His inhuman strength had scared their village's people; over and over again, they tried to kill him. 

They called him _monster._

He agreed. __

Hence, he made up his mind to leave and what else could he become if not a soldier, when he had no money and no skills but his uncontrolled, inhuman strength? He begged Kasuka not to follow him, and to remain in their house, but Kasuka had been firmly opposed and joined the Military Academy with him.

Even here, Shizuo made enemies and was still an outcast, but at the end of the day, it didn't matter. The only thing he cared about were the few moments spent with his little brother. Sporadic words and embarrassed glances were all he needed to feel fulfilled. They didn't discuss anything; they actually barely talked, but he enjoyed just being in the other's presence. Shizuo's everyday goal was just to protect their lives and those precious moments. This responsibility didn't let him sleep at night but, at the same time, having his brother by his side was the reason he woke up every morning trying to improve his self-control.

An animalistic growl left his mouth while he aimed a punch at one of the men who dared to put their filthy eyes on his little brother. When his fist was only few inches from the man's cheek, though, he heard the sound of security catches being removed, and stopped his fist in midair. Even if he was blinded by rage, he knew very well that with a bullet in his skull he wouldn't be able to protect Kasuka anymore. 

And then he heard it. 

A haughty, _annoying_ voice. 

"Get your hands on your head, _Shizu-chan_." 

Among a handful of soldiers who had just arrived, a thin man with raven-black hair stood out, all fair skin and piercing red eyes. He wore an elegant red and gold dress uniform, so much more luxurious than their working ones, which were only simple khaki suits. In spite of the hot weather, above his shoulders lay a black, double-breasted coat whose lapels were extravagantly covered by tanned fur. All in all, his look expressed a sense of self-proclaimed superiority which, crossed with his military rank, led to his apparent certainty that his whole existence was above theirs. 

His eyes shone sadistically and became slits, an insane smirk distorting his handsome face. He lifted his right arm, pointing a switchblade toward the man on a rampage. Scattered around him in a half circle, a handful of men aimed rifles at Shizuo's head.

In spite of the firearms pointed at him, Shizuo's reaction was immediate. 

He turned to face the raven haired man in a full temper tantrum, fists clenched, jaw tightened. 

"Iiiiiiiiiiizaaaayaaaa..."he roared ferally, his already thin self-control annihilated.

 

Heiwajima Shizuo hated Orihara Izaya's guts. He found everything about the raven haired man loathsome: his strange taste in dressing, his haughty attitude, his voice, his _so fucking annoying_ smirk. But what made him fill with rage was the way Izaya toyed with his life. 

Izaya was only twenty-three years old, just like him, but he had joined the army long before. When Shizuo joined the Academy, Izaya's military career as a strategist was already set, a rather unlikely feat at his young age. Their seniors, in fact, found in Izaya's sharpness and unquestionable strategic talent the features of a future commander.

Shizuo still remembered their first encounter. He had been sixteen.

He and Kasuka had been in the Academy for just a couple of days, but Shizuo had already fought against dozens of seniors because their hazing attempts got him angry. That day, he felt the odd sensation of a gaze scorching his flesh, analyzing every single breath he took, and that strange feeling pissed him off immensely. 

He had been inside their dormitory. Two rows of old metal bunk beds faced each other in a long, large hallway made of grey concrete walls, floors, and ceiling. Even the sky behind the curtainless windows was dull, flashes of light piercing the clouds before it started to pour down. 

Shizuo had just knocked down twenty-and-something men when he found out whose those eyes belonged to. While he was trying to catch his breath after the dust up, sweat dripping from his dyed blond hair, he heard the unmistakable sound of a pair of clapping hands along with a boy's laugh, the creepiest he had ever heard. 

He turned, and few steps from him stood a scrawny boy he had never seen before, at least six inches shorter than him, dressed in a strange black and red uniform. 

Black hair, fair skin, red eyes.

Despite his small body and delicate features, Shizuo immediately realized he could find no vulnerability in him. At all. The boy reminded him of a _cockroach_ , so tiny and yet indestructible. 

"Hi Shizuo, I'm Orihara Izaya. Nice to make your acquaintance,” the _insect_ said, his voice clear and more high-pitched than  Shizuo’s own. He immediately despised the hint of supposed superiority he found in it.

No. It was the boy's whole attitude which was _infinitely_ annoying.  Shizuo didn't answer, he just observed the black-haired boy in front of him, trying to evaluate with a glance how suspicious the owner of this child-like body really was. 

Izaya's hand was extended, waiting for a handshake that never came. 

The raven sighed, and Shizuo snapped.

"You piss me off."

The boy tilted his head on one side and grinned.

"Hmm, what a pity. I thought we could have some fun..." 

Izaya had barely the time to end his sentence before a fist flew right past his right cheek. He easily avoided it and, in response, slashed Shizuo's chest with a switchblade ( _Fuck! Where did it come from?_ ), piercing through the skin and letting crimson liquid gush out from the cut. 

Shizuo hissed in pain and surprised at the sight of his bleeding chest.

He had sensed it then, that playing with Orihara Izaya was like playing with fire and he had just burned his fingers. What he wasn't able to predict, at that moment, was the magnitude of the problem he had become involved in.

An insane sneer crept onto the smaller boy's face, and Shizuo was so shocked he almost forgot to fight back.

Izaya didn't fear him at all. On the contrary, the boy was acting like he had just found something _extremely_ entertaining. 

The blonde was baffled, but his well-developed fighting instinct got the better on him. He flew at Izaya, but the other young man nimbly avoided his killer punches. The chase began, and in seconds they were out of the hallway and into the pouring rain. From what Shizuo could see, Izaya enjoyed himself; his agility allowed him to easily avoid obstacles and, probably thanks to years of military training, he could run fairly quickly for a long distance before getting tired. Every now and then during their chase, Izaya looked over his shoulder back toward Shizuo, who was panting heavily behind him.

Shizuo ran at breakneck speed after Izaya, clothes soaked with water and blood and mud. He was totally blinded by the desire to catch that obnoxious insect, to throw his thin body on the ground and immobilize it with his stronger one. His hands could already feel the soft sensation that would come with squeezing Izaya's neck, inducing spasms all over those scrawny limbs. He wanted to make him a writhing mess, until every inch of life left those piercing red eyes and that annoying smile died on those lips.

Despite his efforts, the smaller boy was always out of reach. 

Their chase into the open fields for military preparation continued until a group of seniors stopped Shizuo, threatening him with their rifles. In a blink of an eye, Izaya was out of sight, and the blonde roared in frustration. What happened that afternoon resulted in a month of additional bone-crushing workouts, hours more spent on the training fields. And if that wasn't enough, men he had never seen before approached him with the intent to fight. 

He was furious. Luckily, Kasuka was always by his side, and his brother’s presence calmed Shizuo, at least a bit.

Every now and then, Izaya made another appearance, turning Shizuo's life into a living hell. Whenever the blonde sensed those red eyes on him, or spotted that slim, extravagantly dressed figure, the monster in him awoke in all its destructive power. That insect, that _flea,_ even gave him a cute pet-name, just to make fun of him and incite his rage even further. 

Shizuo's hate grew stronger day by day, until the thought of killing Izaya became his obsession. 

And now, today, years after their first encounter, _the flea_ was threatening him with his lackeys' rifles and  Shizuo was just about to punch him (again).

"I wouldn’t, if I were you, Shizu-chan. Get your hands on your head right now."

The blond soldier gritted his teeth and emitted a grumbling, lion-like roar, his fists so tightly clenched that nails pierced the skin. 

"Izaya, you flea bastard..."

"Right now, Shizu-chan. Your beloved brother would be sad if they gifted you with a bullet to the head, ne?" 

Shizuo winced and lifted his hands. The flea's voice was always so obnoxious. It was less high-pitched now that he had grown, but Shizuo swore that there was still something child-like in it. Izaya's body had also changed during those years; he was taller now, though only about average height overall. He was still thin, but no longer so scrawny. His features and facial expressions, however, had remained the same.

"Good boy! My, my, Shizu-chan, could you please behave in a more civilized way? You're such a beast!" Then he burst into an insane laughter. Shizuo almost exploded with rage; that _louse_ was making fun of him. He bet this whole situation was just one of  Izaya's games, like always. 

The raven, indeed, had an insane fascination with playing with lives like they were just pawns on his beloved chessboard. His strategic capability, which could save the tide of a war, was the straw that broke the camel's back when applied to that mad hobby of his. Shizuo knew Izaya basked in the gratification provided by the results he could obtain manipulating people, just for his own amusement.

_ That flea thinks he is a god.  _

"Izayaaaa, I swear, I'm gonna KILL YOU, KILL YOU, KILL YOU UNTIL YOU'RE DEAD!" __

In the meantime, Kasuka examined the scene without losing his usual calmness. He was very sorry for his brother; it certainly wasn't a good thing to have Orihara Izaya for enemy, but there was something twisted and obsessive in their mutual hatred that Kasuka couldn't figure out. Just the mention of the strategist's name was enough to make his brother lose his temper. Furthermore, after every chase they had, his brother closed himself in a shell of unresolved rage, and for hours his only words were whispered promises of vengeance. Kasuka always gave him the best moral support he could provide, and since words weren’t his strong point, he just sat next to Shizuo, letting him know that Kasuka was by his side.

Izaya burst into a mocking laugher.

"Hahaha, so scary! Sorry to remind you of your total inability to catch me. Anyway, I can't tolerate your violent behavior anymore. You almost make us lose precious human lives, Shizu-chan."

"SHUT UP! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" the blonde yelled, on verge of exploding once again. Izaya chuckled, satisfied, then he lifted his hand in an order to lower the rifles and turned his back on the raging male. 

"See you around, _monster_." 

The strategist waved one hand and sent a last glance to Shizuo who fell to his knees and let out a feral shout. Even when all the soldiers near them took their leave, Shizuo didn't stand up. Gently, Kasuka put his hand on his brother's shoulder. 

"Dammit, Kasuka. I hate him so much." 

Kasuka didn't reply, but Shizuo felt the pressure on his shoulder increase slightly. They remained like that for a while, until Shizuo turned his head to face his little brother, hazel eyes wet with tears of frustration. A bit reassured by his brother's presence, he stood up. 

*

Later that night, Shizuo lay atop his sleeping bag, waiting for sleep alone. Kasuka had left half an hour before since he was on guard duty. The blonde was so grateful to have him by his side; his quiet presence was always successful in calming his nerves. 

He sighed. 

_ Kasuka _ _ doesn't deserve this. If it wasn't for my strength and temper, he could have been far from the dangers of war, enjoying a peaceful life. He could have been married by now.  _

Before falling asleep, Shizuo felt his heart tighten in shame. 

_ Tomorrow I'll protect him, with everything it takes.  _

That night, he dreamt he was climbing a hill covered with white mist, so thick that rolled lazily around his feet. He giggled; it was like walking on tiny clouds. In that first moment, he enjoyed jumping, kicking the mist like a child in a puddle, just to admire the ripples his feet created. 

Soon, he felt the sudden urge to dive his whole body in that thin mist. So he lay down, letting that the mist submerged his body in a white cocoon. Feeling relaxed as never before, he inhaled deeply. However, he realized that the mist was little by little making his eyes burn and filling his lungs with thick smoke. And then, _pain_.

He woke up. 

He blinked and asked himself if he was still dreaming. 

Black smoke was everywhere. 

His sense of self-preservation took over and in an instant, he dashed out of the tent. Outside, the once clear sky was now entirely covered with a layer of soot. The atmosphere was ominous and so stifling he had to cover his mouth so he could breathe without his lungs burning with pain.

While he tried to visualize what was happening around him, he felt _something_ bumping his shoulder. 

A high-pitched shout made him forget to check what had hit him. The sound lasted for a blink of an eye, but Shizuo could still hear the echo of the trill resound in his frozen veins. 

Another one followed soon after. It was the cry of slaughtered beings, and the killer was hidden in charcoal-grey fog.

Then he heard the drum of steps, approaching at such speed the ground under his bare feet trembled. 

Shock made him imagine the entity hidden in the fog like the abominable aliens in horror movies. Fear would have overcome him if the only grain of rational thinking that fear had spared didn't make him realize those monsters existed only in movies and dreams.

_ It's nothing but a dream. Wake up!  _

He panicked, because even the realization of this being in a dream wasn't enough to wake him up. _Trapped_. And what was someone trapped in a nightmare supposed to do?

Through the t-shirt he had hastily shoved over his mouth, he smelled an unpleasant stench lingering in the air. He could sense it approaching along with heavy steps: the reek of burned meat and blood. As the smell reached its peak, another bump on his shoulder made him lose his balance. But, this time, he checked. 

His guts clenched at the sight of burned flesh and hollow eyes.

It was the last frame his mind took note of, before reality hit him: _soldiers_ were running out of their tents, screaming in pure terror. 

And then, Shizuo spotted the fires; they were everywhere, eating people and tents. 

And then the shooting. 

And more screams.

Their enemies were attacking. 

A sneak attack. 

_ Kasuka _ . 

He began to run like he had never run in his life, not even with the flea. His eyes, his lungs, his throat burned like hell, but he didn't lose speed.

More shootings, more screams.

He ran, lowering his body as much as possible, trying to use the tents to hide himself from the enemy's eyes. Burned corpses were everywhere, their camp now a circle of hell. It was almost impossible to keep his eyes open with all the smoke, but he desperately tried to identify his brother's frame. 

He found himself praying to God.

Shizuo didn't know how he made it. It was a miracle that he was still safe and sound in that carnage. 

After what seemed eons to him, he found who he was looking for.

Kasuka lay face down on the ground, unconscious, the fire almost brushing his frame. Through the partially burned garments, his fair skin was now black with smoke, his black hair burned on the ends and blood gushing from one ( _or more?_ ) bullet wound on his leg. Shizuo felt his heart shattering. Immediately, he searched for his brother’s pulse and he felt an immeasurable relief when he sensed it.

He didn't lose time. With one quick movement he took his brother in his arms and continued running. He didn't know where to go, but, in the end, it didn't matter at all. He had just to keep running until he was far from that hell, so far that he couldn't see any more of that thick column of smoke in the sky.

For the first time in his life, he was thankful from the bottom of his heart for his inhuman strength, because he barely felt the weight of the body in his arms.

Soon Shizuo found himself avoiding trunks and branches in the forest around the camp. He held Kasuka tight, letting his head rest against Shizuo’s strong chest. With one hand, he protected his little brother's face as best as he could, brushing his cheek slightly. 

He kept running even when they were out the other side of the forest, until the adrenaline and fear were gone from his system. When he stopped to catch his breath for a moment, salt from his tears made the cuts he didn't realize he had sting. When Shizuo started running again, he couldn't keep himself from crying his heart out. The tears just wouldn't stop falling, fogging his vision, but he didn't falter.

_ Oh god, we made it... But what about the other soldiers? How many people died? And what about Izaya? _

He shook his head. Izaya was Izaya, and he _always_ succeeded in saving his own ass. 

Still, he felt his heart clenching. 

It was a while before Shizuo stopped again, turning his head for the first time since their escape. Through the tears, he saw the firelight, miles away by now. Everything seemed like just a nightmare; he couldn't believe that something so horrible could have happened. So many lives wasted, all the soldiers he knew were probably ashes now. He felt rage boiling in his veins, but he also understood vengeance was useless. He and Kasuka had almost lost their lives in that hell, and his brother was seriously injured. He had to find someone who could heal him and try to go on. They still had each other, after all.

However, he couldn't refrain from thinking about Izaya once again. 

_ I wonder if I'll see him again.  _

_ Perhaps he'll still haunt my dreams...  _

_ Perhaps I'll meet him in another life. _

Shizuo had almost begun running once more when he felt fists holding his shirt. The smaller body was snuggled slightly into his arms, burying his head in Shizuo’s chest. The blonde felt a sudden joy in his heart and tightened his hold, hugging the injured man. 

Without being aware Shizuo kissed his brother’s black hair, holding him even tighter. 

He was so happy to see Kasuka alive and conscious, but he was also worried about his brother's injuries. He was afraid look at his body; what if it was irreparably burned? He couldn't even distinguish his brother’s smell; he only felt the stench of smoke and blood. 

Shizuo began sobbing quietly, but he didn't stop kissing that black hair. He had never hugged Kasuka before, not even once. Being in each other presence was enough for them, but not this time, not after Shizuo had almost lost him. 

He jolted when the man in his arms kissed him back, weakly, in the middle of his chest. 

It was time to face the truth. 

The blonde sat down carefully and decided to hug him, just one more minute. He kept his eyes closed and buried his face in black strands. He kissed the smaller man one last time, as sweetly as he could, and lifted his head to examine the wounds.

Shizuo felt his heart ache. A bullet had pierced his brother's left knee and on his legs there were patches of burnt skin. Without losing any time, he tore off the collar of his own shirt and wrapping it around Kasuka's injured leg in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Then, ever so carefully, he lifted the smaller man's head from his chest, lightly caressing his cheek. His skin was black with soot and, in the dead of night, it was even hard to see his features. 

The man in his arms slowly opened his eyes. 

His irises glistened beautifully in the moonlight. 

Shizuo, shocked, stared at them. 

_ Red.  _


	2. Anesthetize

Izaya woke to the smell of smoke and shouts. He crawled outside his tent and, in his hurry to understand what was happening, he left his beloved coat behind. 

Red eyes widened in disbelief at the sheer magnitude of his mistakes in predicting their enemy's moves. Human torches' screams muffled the sound of shootings and the fire crackle. The air was irrespirable, thick with smoke and stinking of burned skin and gunpowder. His stomach lurched, and he instinctively covered his mouth with his hand. Many tents were in flame; his comrades were running for dear life, shouting their heads off like mad men, and corpses had started to litter the soil. 

With the corner of the eye, he spotted a pair of men equipped with rifles. Izaya recognized their uniforms, they were _enemies_ , and they were running in his direction. 

His neurons finally transmitted to his limbs the impulse to turn and run like hell. But he wasn't stupid at all, he knew he was like a hunted hare that had started running just one moment too late to save his life. The burning pain he was expecting arrived soon, and increased at light speed until it become so unbearable it left him gasping for air. 

His left knee had been hit.

The world started spinning, and he found himself falling on the ground. Before he lost consciousness, he saw the fire approaching, fast and inescapable. But no, Izaya _refused_ to die in this painful and solitary way, bleeding to death or engulfed by flames. More than pain, he felt fear; he dreaded the unavoidability of becoming _nothing_ in matter of seconds.

*

His thoughts floated in a limbo of black warmth and, even if he didn't know where his body was, he knew he still _existed._ Somehow, fire hadn't been his executioner, and neither had the bullet. Or, at least, not yet. Otherwise, he thought, perhaps his body had burned but his soul had not.

He discarded the idea as soon as the awareness of his own body began rejoining his conscience. The reintroduction of what lay outside his soul started with a sense of discomfort that soon become the excruciating, unbearable pain of fire eating his flesh. But, at least, the links his brain shared with his limbs had been reactivated, returning to him his senses. 

Now, he could touch the warmth enveloping him, smell it, and see where his body lay. His nostrils were filled by a musky, but at the same time sweet, smell, and... _sweat?_ Under his fingertips, there was the texture of cloth, slightly wet, which was the source of the hot sensation he felt even through the fog of his unconsciousness. The skin on his left temple and cheek, too, could sense it. He still did not have full control over his body, so his satisfying his curiosity and sating the need to sense more of that warmth remained unfulfilled. However, he could perceive a wide wave motion cradling him; it was like _breathing_. 

His skin felt a slight vibration, rhythmic and high-frequency, spread by something pounding under the fabric. Izaya knew that, if he could have put his ears closer, he would have heard a sound; even if he couldn't guess what it was. Actually, now that he thought about it, his sense of hearing could perceive a noise synchronized with the wave movement. It was like wind passing through a tiny passage, it was like a breath. But it was ragged, and accompanied by hiccups. _Someone_ was sobbing. 

He understood.

Somebody had carried him unconscious away from that living hell, actually saving his life. But who? He was influential of course, he was the most important person in that military camp by far, but he was sadly aware that nobody really would have risked life and limb to save him. Even if Izaya constantly affirmed his love for them, his beloved humans didn't reciprocate it at all. Who, then, would have slowed down their own escape to cart away a thin, but still grown man like him? What a stupid decision! If Izaya hadn't been shot, he would have escaped as fast as he could, without saving anyone other than himself. He wouldn't even feel guilty for his selfishness. 

Izaya was dying from curiosity. He had to know who had defied his expectations.

So he slowly opened his eyes and, in the darkness, the raven noted the outline of strong, tanned arms holding him. His head was resting on the man's chest, which proved to be the source of the heat. The cloth turned out to be a white t-shirt, stained with dirt and blood, probably Izaya’s own from the wound on his leg. His half-lidded eyes followed the garment up, over its hem, until he spotted drops of water running down the man's neck. He felt his heart nearly burst out from his chest when he noted that the droplets were dripping through _blond_ hair. The man's features weren’t unknown to  Izaya; those hazel eyes were terribly familiar.

_ Shizuo _ ? Why would Shizu-chan save him and not his brother?

He had heard the beast crying -- the droplets on his neck could be tears. Something must have happened to Kasuka. That situation, however, still didn't make sense to him at all. Shizuo hated him, didn’t he? Why such a drastic change of character? In his current state, Izaya wasn’t able to determine an answer. Everything was unintelligible, even to a smart person like him. 

A sudden sting of pain made him clench his fist around the shirt, and bury his head in Shizuo's chest. It was almost unbearable, but he fought desperately to stay conscious He didn't know what passing through the protozoan's head yet. Perhaps Shizuo wanted to gift him with an even more painful death than the fire. 

Izaya was basking in dreadful, graphic thoughts of his own death when, out of the blue, he felt the monster _hug_ him. It wasn't a bone-crushing embrace. In fact, it was strangely affectionate, like the blonde really cared for the person in his arms. 

This wasn't possible, right? It was so out of character for Shizuo that Izaya felt the urge to burst into laughter, and he would've done so if it wasn't for the excruciating pain in ever part of him. The strategist tried to find a satisfying explanation, wracking his brain, but he came to no conclusion, except that Shizuo didn't hate him at all. 

Ridiculous. Shizuo loathed him from the first time they met. 

 

Izaya still remembered that rainy day. He had heard of _the_ _boy with inhuman strength_ from frightened, gorilla-like seniors the day before and, of course, he was interested. He was deeply fascinated by human nature, and the way they faced different situations. He entertained himself by trying to predict peoples’ moves and, when he was right, it was like an adrenalin rush, serving to build up his ego and pride. Soon, he became more curious, and moved on to study test subjects' reaction to circumstances in which he was first the catalyst, then the trigger, in the end making him the _god_. 

Experiment by experiment, he dissociated himself from his guinea pigs, which he fondly called _humans,_ until he became, by his own hand, a hybrid, an aberration. Because he surely wasn't one of them, god forbid, he was above them, though they refused to acknowledge his status. And, thanks to his _experiments_ , along with his innate sharpness and learning skills, he improved his ability as strategist, becoming one of the most influential people in the army.

The night after he heard the first tales of Shizuo, he couldn't sleep from excitement. 

_ So interesting... _

That night, Izaya envisioned Shizuo just like a mutation from his humans' standards. He craved to study, to experiment, to master it.

The next morning, he eagerly started his observation. Behind his binoculars, red eyes widened in astonishment because never, _never_ in his whole life, he had seen someone so interesting, and beautiful, someone who left him so utterly shocked. 

_ This is the best! This is what I've always waited for. _

So Izaya decided to approach him.

The boy was taller than him, and he was slender despite the load his body could bear. Unruly blonde hair framed a sulky face and burning hazel eyes. He seemed to be in a kind of inner turmoil derived from his lack of control over his _mutation_.  Izaya was sure the humans around him had always warded him off, if not even fought him, and that was likely the reason behind the decision to join the army. 

Izaya was so excited to-- 

He miscalculated.

He didn't expect such a reaction from the boy – it was a totally unpredictable one. The raven put one of his masks on and kept his composure, but he was shocked. The blonde's response was so different from any Izaya expected and was accustomed to. _Nobody_ had ever reacted in such way the first time they met  Izaya, because he was aware he had the right stuff to make a good, no, a _perfect_ first impression. He was well-mannered and intelligent, but most of all, he was handsome, and Izaya knew people were usually inclined to trust a beautiful person rather than an ugly one. 

Shizuo , with only a glance, decided he didn't like him.

Without any apparent reason, just on instinct. _Like a beast._

It was so blunt, and it left in his mouth the bad aftertaste of rejection, stirring up his pride like gasoline on a flame. Izaya didn't snap, he had never let anger control his actions because he wasn't used to let his guard down or reacting on instinct like an animal. As a rational being, he couldn't soothe his wounded pride with the taste of bones breaking under his fists. He had to make it just with his intellect. In other words, he had to find a _rational explanation_ for that unusual behavior.

And there it was, the answer. His intelligence hadn't failed. 

It wasn't only the boy's strength that was superhuman, it was his whole being. It wasn't a mutation at all, Shizuo was _something else_ who adapted his external appearance to resemble human. 

Beyond physical appearance, in his very core, the boy was against human nature: _Monstrum_ _._

Izaya's love was for humans, and humans only. Loving someone like Shizuo was useless, if not dangerous. How could he take delight in studying something that had no rules he could deduce? However, despite his monstrous nature, Shizuo was perhaps the most intriguing being he’d ever met in his entire life, and Izaya immediately realized he was the perfect subject for a more focused study, though others may have called it a twisted obsession. He hadn't made Shizuo's life a hell out of malicious intent. It was just because Shizuo was his grotesque plaything, and he gained an immense, sadistic pleasure in torment that inhuman creature. 

So how could Shizuo save his life like the past years didn't mean anything? 

How could Shizuo take him in his arms, without trying to break him? 

As though Shizuo had sensed his thoughts, the monster's embrace tightened. Izaya immediately realized he was finally going to crush him, breaking with his lethal grip every bone in Izaya’s poor body. 

_ Such a painful death. _ _Good choice, Shizu-chan_. 

However, what Shizuo did immediately after the deadly hug Izaya would always remember as the most unpredictable move the monster had ever made. 

Shizuo _kissed_ his hair. He buried his nose in raven-black strands, gently nuzzling, before his soft lips placed delicate, affectionate kisses all over  Izaya's head. Over and over, like he cared. 

Izaya was so shocked from that strange display of affection he didn't realized the hug had become even tighter, and he swore he could hear his bones creaking in protest. But it didn't seem to be a deadly embrace at all, even if it was almost as painful. The kisses didn't stop; if anything, they became more frequent and desperate, without ever losing their tenderness. 

Izaya was baffled by that strange behavior but, most of all, he was astonished that the beast was capable of such tender actions. He had always seen those hands uprooting trees, punching people almost to death, and throwing bunks beds like they were paper cranes.

Now, those hands were holding him with desperate affection. 

And those lips, they were used to throw insults, death threats, feral growls; they weren't made for kissing in such sweet way.

_Always so unpredictable..._

He didn't know what to think, his mind blank as Shizuo's kisses wiped every drop of rational thinking clean from his mind. In this tight embrace, his head rested entirely on the blonde's chest. It was like melting; he felt the heat seeping through his skin like waves, eroding his cold shell, leaving him exposed. He turned his head, facing the warmth, letting the tip of his nose and forehead lie on it. 

He inhaled deeply, eyes closed, before his lips lightly touched the shirt, feeling its texture. Then, like they had their own volition, they moved on to feel the smoothness of the hot, slightly wet body the cloth hid. His lips parted; they wanted more, if only they could make that thin cotton layer disappear--

_ He _ craved to know what taste that sweat-glistening skin would leave on his tongue.

Immediately after, however, Izaya realized what he was doing and was instantly ashamed by his own thoughts. The pain and the blonde's unusual behavior were tricking his mind and making him lose his self control. He couldn't feel attraction towards any one human in particular, so he would certainly _never_ fantasize over a monster's body. It was just the suspension bridge effect. In such a dangerous situation, he was mistaking the physiological responses his body had to fear for arousal.

Now that he thought about it, Shizuo's feelings could turn out to be very useful. In his current state, Izaya couldn't make it without someone's help and the beast was the perfect one to help. He would let Shizu-chan carry him to a safe place and, once healed, he could find a painful way to punish the monster that dared to kiss him. Even in pain, Izaya couldn't keep himself from smiling.

In the meantime, Shizuo sat down, still holding the smaller body in his arms. Izaya wondered how long the monster would waste time doting on him, since he was still dying from pain and blood-loss! However, he decided to keep his mouth closed. Shizuo was still Shizuo after all, and Izaya knew all too well how quickly his mood could drastically change with just one bad-chosen word. 

The blonde hugged him, tightly, and nuzzled his face in black strands. Then, his lips were again on the raven's head, firmly kissing him, just once. 

Izaya felt the blonde's head lifting from his hair, and sensed the other man's eyes on his own body, scorching his skin with hazel gaze. He heard the collar of the shirt being ripped off, then a rustling as Shizuo wrapped the cloth above the wound on his knee, trying to stop the bleeding. The raven was glad the protozoan had still the good sense to stop the cuddling in an attempt to save him from fatal blood-loss.

One big, gentle hand forced Izaya’s head to turn, separating it from its nest in the blonde's shirt. The lack of warmth was soon replaced by soft fingertips that started to draw invisible paths on his cheek, making him shiver.

Red eyes remained shut. For the first time in his life, Izaya feared what he might find in those monstrous brown ones if he were to look. In his mind, he visualized them feral, burning with pure lust.

He hated himself and his curiosity for wanting to see that gaze.

_ I'll see it just once. Then, once I'll be healed, I'll kill him. I'll find a way to make him pay for what he dared to do.  _

He opened his eyes. 

Izaya tried to visualize the blond man still holding him. His messy blond hair was partially blackened with soot, as was his face. The raven spotted on his cheeks trails of tears that had washed away the dirt. Some caressed his jaw-line before diving on his neck, and others brushed those dark pink, parted lips. 

He didn't find the gaze he expected. 

Hazel eyes weren't burning with lust; they were impossibly wide with shock. 

*

When Shizuo recognized those red eyes, he felt his heart stop. His first thought was that this was all a nightmare, and soon he would drown in white mist and woke up in his tent. That delusion lasted only for the blink of an eye, though, and a sense of despair filled him whole, leaving just void inside of him, like he was nothing more than an empty shell. 

When he woke up from his trance, the blonde found out he was running like hell. He had no idea how much time passed from the moment he recognized Izaya, or how many miles he ran. The landscape was totally different, and the plume of smoke was closer. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, forcing himself to not be overwhelmed. 

 

Around him, the moon lit soft slopes covered in full bloomed poppies that bent lazily in the breeze. Lonely, centuries-old trees watched over the silent, uncontaminated landscape. And so it was since they were acorns, and before them there were other trees as guardians, and so on and on, since the dawn of time. A small, white owl was perched on a branch, watching the sleeping nature under him. His head tilted on one side when golden eyes suddenly spotted something _unusual_ for the third time since the sun disappeared under the horizon. The bird, even if he lacked experience since his young age, noticed that there was something different that night. First of all, there was a strong light the owl had never seen before, in a forest just ten minutes flight from there. Then, there was a coming and going totally uncanny for that place where stillness reigned.

That night something had happened, upsetting that place's balance, but he could have never imagined what monstrous carnage took place in the humans' world.

The white bird's gaze followed out of curiosity the running... _being?_ before he took flight, soaring over sleeping fields while the wind lightly caressed his feathers. 

In the meanwhile, the blond man didn't stop his desperate run, even if he was completely worn out. As he approached the forest where their military camp was hidden, he spotted tall flames swallowing up tree-tops, and the smell of smoke became unbearable. Even though his self-preservation instinct begged him to stop, Shizuo kept running, as fast as he could, not caring enough to avoid the sharp branches cutting his body like blades.

He didn't care, his whole being seized on just two words, infinitively repeated: 

_ Find him, find him, find him. _

He seemed barely human now, covered in blood and soot, his limbs full of cuts and his eyes burning like they belonged to a wild beast. Or, perhaps, he had never been so deeply human before. 

When Shizuo finally arrived to the camp, he noticed their enemies weren't there anymore. Fire had swallowed up everything, tents, people, _hope_ , before the wind directed it towards other fuel. 

There was nothing more to find. Only ashes were left. The tall trees encircling the clearing had been consumed by fire, until all that remained was their skeletons, looming black and sinister like claws over the thick fog of soot. Staggering through the ashes, he reached the place where he guessed their tent had been located. Even here, there was no trace of Kasuka. Between bouts of coughing due to the smoke lingering in the air, he shouted his brother's name. 

His only reply was the faint crackling of fire in the distance.

In the bottom of his heart, he wasn't surprised. The blonde knew that he had been given only one chance, and he wasted it mistaking his brother for his arch-enemy. 

_ How fucking, FUCKING, stupid I am _ . 

He fell on his knees, hands in his hair. 

A desperate shout echoed throughout the hills, but there was nobody still alive to hear it.

 

Shizuo , mad with grief, searched for his little brother all across the camp till dawn. Despite his efforts, he couldn't find either Kasuka or his corpse. He had searched through the burned remains of his brothers in arms, scattered in the camp and around the clearing like fallen leaves. Some of them had been destroyed by flames to such an extent that he couldn't figure out who they were anymore. Others, he couldn't stand the sight without feeling his stomach lurch and a sting of pain piercing his heart. 

Among hundreds of fallen soldiers, he found the corpses of the men who provoked him the day before.

Shizuo's chest hurt, heavy with anxiety and lack of air; both panic and smoke had tarred his lungs, but he had kept on calling his brother's name. 

_ Gotta _ _ call him again. _ _He hadn't heard me. There's the noise from the fire -- or -- or he's too weak to answer. Both flames and enemy spared him, he is just somewhere around the camp--_

Useless. 

_ Must search again! Must call his name again! _

_ He's just a bit farther, yes, he must be right behind those trees! I'll find him safe and sound! He'll forgive me, and I'll laugh at how stupid I had been. He'll laugh too, since he's safe--  _

The sound of his steps faded, swallowed by the realization he had already sifted through this place, more than once. His little brother was nowhere to be found. There was still the option Kasuka had managed to escape, but how, and where? There wasn't a single house in sight in those uninhabited lands, and that meant no food and no shelter. There was nobody that could heal Kasuka if he was injured, and the probability he had at least one wound was extremely high. Even if he had managed to avoid the bullets, there had been the flames to contend with. 

Shizuo was sure he himself had only managed to come out unscathed from that hell because of his monstrous strength. But his brother was human, his body was fragile. 

In the end, he couldn't delude himself anymore: Kasuka was dead, all because he made one single, _enormous_ , mistake. 

He let himself fall on the ground, longing for death to overcome him. 

There was nothing more left for him; the only silver lining in his life had now vanished. He wondered if it was possible to die from guilt alone. 

If only he had saved his brother, instead that _damned flea_. 

_ The flea. _

Shizuo suddenly realized he had still one thing to do before dying: killing Izaya. Surely, _that louse_ would still laying where  Shizuo had left him; he couldn't walk in his condition, after all. The blonde stood and stumbled, totally blinded by sorrow, before he went through the same path he had already made twice consecutively that night.

*

Izaya lay on that same field where Shizuo had abandoned him, alternating from awareness to pain-induced unconsciousness. During one moment of clarity, the raven tried to understand what had happened ( _one minute, one hour, one eternity? How long had it been?_ ) before. He was tempted to give up entirely on comprehending what passed through that monster's head. One moment, Shizuo had been kissing him, and the next, he had brusquely shoved Izaya to the ground and run away. 

With little other choice, Izaya waited for his enemy to return, his whole world reduced to the clear sky above him, framed by the long stems of wild vegetation. Subconsciously, he searched for something impossible according to physical laws, something that proved he was only having an extremely vivid nightmare. He waited for the stars to start wrapping up in spirals, he imagined the soil opening under his body to let him fall. His mind searched for _anything_. 

It found nothing.

The weight of reality left him breathless, on the border of a panic attack. It started with a freezing stab at the pit of the stomach, which became firmerthe situation appeared clearer before his eyes. It didn't matter how hard he tried to control himself, tried to keep the pangs at bay. The more he thought about stopping his brain from focusing on the pain, the more he prodded it, poking it like waves on rocks, until it became unbearable, infecting even his chest with its cold grip. His heartbeat began racing, building up adrenaline with the frantic rhythm of thumps against his ribcage. His breath came out shallow, fast, synchronized with his racing thoughts. There was no prospect of salvation: his life depended on his worst enemy. 

That night, which had claimed so many lives, was going to forever alter his own or, perhaps, end it entirely. If the brute didn't decide to return and take him where somebody could heal him, that night would surely be his last.

Night passed by, and day arrived on its tail, but Shizuo still wasn't back in sight. Izaya's thoughts returned to the monster's behavior. Even if Shizuo was unpredictable, and acted driven by pure instinct, Izaya couldn't stand that there was something he couldn't find a rational explanation to. 

_ What happened to make Shizuo look so shocked? And what is the reason the protozoan decided to run away? Where is he now?  _

Izaya suddenly remembered that the drastic change occurred when Shizuo had lifted his face from the shirt. It was like Shizuo became aware of _who_ was hugging. 

Red eyes widened in realization.

Suddenly, the raven heard a rustle and his heart jumped in surprise. Someone was getting closer. _ Shizu-chan?_

Step by step, the sound grew nearer and, soon, _he_ appeared in Izaya’s field of vision. Shizuo was barely recognizable, every bit of his body that Izaya could see was full of cuts, some still bleeding profusely, and the layer of soot on his skin was thicker than Izaya remembered. 

_ So the monster went back there. _

When Izaya spotted those hazel eyes, his heart almost stopped beating in his chest. 

Shizuo had come back to kill him.

 

Shizuo didn't know how he was able to find Izaya. He just kept walking and, eventually, there he was. As he had expected, the flea had not moved and, luckily for Shizuo’s thirst for revenge, he was still alive. The blond let himself fall onto the ground near the smaller man. Then, with a swift movement, he was on top of the raven, his open hands splayed on the ground near Izaya's head and knees on both sides of his thin hips, trapping him. 

Izaya reacted instinctively, lifting his hands, but his movements lacked their usual agility, and Shizuo easily caught his wrists. Shizuo pinned them forcefully above the raven's head, taking them both with one hand and holding tight. 

Izaya hissed in pain.

_ One hand should be enough to kill him.  _

The flea was finally at his mercy, so Shizuo took his time to look at that thin, injured body, savoring the long awaited power trip. Like it was all written in a script, he knew _exactly_ what to do. And until every line of it was read and performed, every violent need fulfilled, he wouldn't feel satisfied. 

Meanwhile, Izaya was trying to bear the pain of his wrist being squashed by that monstrous hand. On top of him, that beast was observing him squirming, ready to deliver the final blow. When he went to bed that night, he had never imagined that the day Shizuo might catch him would ever come. He had always been confident in his agility and superior intellect. Not that he had never wondered, out of pure curiosity, what it would feel like being trapped by such inhuman strength. Of course, he hadn't imagined it would hurt so much, and Shizuo had barely started to _play_ with him.  Izaya arched his back in unbearable pain, lips opened up in a silent scream.

Then a warm, _strangely gentle_ , hand touched his chin and lowered it.

Blond hair tips brushed against his cheek as Izaya felt Shizuo's lips lingering on his earlobe. A husky voice whispered in his ear. 

"Izaya..." 

The raven shivered.

"Izaya, look at me... Because I'm going to kill you."

Red eyes opened wide and locked with the burning ones few inches over his face. 

Izaya wondered when he closed them, and felt ashamed; he wasn't afraid of that beast, at all. Even if those were his last moments of life, he surely couldn't let Shizuo believe he had succeeded in defeating him. If it wasn't for their enemies, the monster would never been able to catch him, much less kill him. 

Shizuo felt that once pale skin under his fingers stretching in an insane smirk. He didn't expect anything less from Izaya \-- the flea always dared to challenge him, even when he already was a dead man walking. Slowly, Shizuo let his fingertips slip down to that soft, pliable neck, brushing it in his descent until his hand encircled it. Hazel eyes looked closely, following every path they made and, when his palm lay flat, Shizuo acknowledged his hand fit perfectly around that silky expanse of skin. 

The weight of that scarlet gaze was piercing his flesh, and that sensation aroused an adrenaline rush all over his body. Shizuo wanted to be the last thing that those dying eyes focused on. But this still wasn't enough to satisfy him. He suddenly remembered one time he had watched a thriller movie in which the victim's retina retained, for several hours, the image of the last thing seen before death. In his frenzy, he craved to impress the tangible sign of revenge on those bloody-red eyes. 

Those thoughts finally unsettled his rational inner self. The monster in him was taking control over his being, and without a target, without _Kasuka_ to protect, there was no way to put him back to sleep. Killing  Izaya while the other man was injured and defenseless would be the last step, and Shizuo knew that if he took it, there was no turning back. He would completely lose the last drop of humanity that still remained to him. 

_ Whatever. _

Shizuo began to tighten his hold on Izaya’s neck. 

Shizuo’s eyes came back to focus on his foe’s red ones, now wide open but still locked with his. When his grip increased in intensity, he felt those thin wrists trying to wiggle out of his hold, struggling for dear life. In facing death, his arch-enemy didn't seem the god he pretended to be at all. With his desperate attempt to free himself, he was indeed unveiling how deeply human he was. 

_ I hate you, I hate you so much, Izaya! You're human, but you refuse to accept it.  _

_ If only I were human. _

His deadly hold tightened. 

Until the small body under his stopped moving. 

He grinned insanely and pushed more, because he knew the _damned flea_ wasn't dead yet.

Then, Shizuo spotted them: his own tears, blended with blood, on that once alabaster skin.

In the end, he couldn't do it.


	3. Epitaph

He was exhausted. 

Everything hurt, inside and out.

His skin was stained with blood and soot, his bare feet bled profusely, and his limbs were so worn-out he could only stagger. But he couldn't stop trudging onward, because in his ears resounded the flow of water. It was getting closer, step by step, and he was so parched. His mouth was arid; his tongue felt as though it were coated with sand. The man craved water as though he had never consumed it in his whole life. 

A choked cry of surprise escaped cracked lips when a root protruding from the ground made him stumble. Its thorns pierced his ankle, but he barely felt it. It was a wound no different from the many others he already had on his body, from cheeks to fingertips, and he knew he looked as though he had been flagellated without mercy.

Surely, he thought, fate must be a sadistic executioner.

Not for scoring his skin with cuts. Fate could take his arm, his leg, it could also take his life for all that it mattered to him at this point. Fate’s cruelty showed when it simply stared at him while he lost his little brother in the fire. Shizuo bet that if fate had a voice, and a body, it would have split its side laughing at his _fucking_ stupidity.

But Shizuo wasn't delusional. He knew fate was just a scapegoat to avoid placing blame on himself. But the guilt's weight was unbearable. It cracked even his stone-like bones, and lacerated bundles of muscles strong as metal wires.

More than anything, the act of thinking drove his mind to the edge of madness, the pain his heart being squeezed out via his throat tipping the scales towards insanity. 

_ I want to die. _

He desperately wanted to, but thirst kept his body on autopilot, making him flounder in thick vegetation like a fish trapped in a web, until his eyes focused on the brook where clear water flowed. When he managed to disentangle himself from the thick spirals of vines that shielded the stream like a castle’s fortification, his skin had been reduced to a maze of bleeding cuts. 

Shizuo moved the unconscious man he held onto the grass near the bank, as carefully as he would have handled with a bird with a broken wing. Then, heedless of his own injuries, he dashed to drink, filling his mouth with the fresh liquid. He blissfully wiped away the thirst, sip after sip, until he felt fully satisfied. Then, Shizuo ducked his head under those crystalline waters, washing away soot, blood, and tears from his face and out of blond tresses. 

As drops dripped down his body, he felt life return to his limbs. Since his senses returned to full clarity, he found himself surrounded by such an idyllic place that he was left gaping. The stream meandered through rocks, shielded by the thick vegetation of an uninhabited land. Above its crystalline stream, luxuriant trees casted their shadows on the slightly sloping ground, covered by grass. 

On that green carpet lay the injured man he had carried in his arms all day long. 

His arch-enemy. 

The breeze ruffled black strands that covered a once pale face now dirty with soot and tears and blood. The same stains were mirrored all over the body that had once had been unreachable, but now was injured, defenseless. Even if the raven's clothes were ripped and blackened, the blonde wondered how he could have mistaken them for his brother's uniform. Izaya's clothes were _grey_ , not military green, how could have he-- 

Shizuo's expression clouded.

In few hours, he failed all the goals he had established in his whole life.

He forced himself to observe the smaller man, trying to assimilate the bitter truth: he hadn't been able to kill him. When he had been about to deliver the deathblow, his hand had stopped pushing and he had realized that he was crying his heart out. For the man he hated most, nonetheless.

_ If only I could stop and die. _

Not only had Shizuo spared Izaya's life; he had realized he couldn't leave the other man dying in that godforsaken field, even if he was sure the world would be a better place without the louse's web wrapped around it. For the moment, he decided to not question his impulsive decision to take Izaya with him. However, Shizuo was well aware that if he didn't take care of him, even doing something as small as trying to make him drink some water, the flea would die before the blonde decided what to do with his life. 

Reluctantly, he stepped out of the stream and approached his nemesis. 

As he looked at the unconscious man, Shizuo couldn't come to terms with the fact that Izaya didn't seem Izaya at all while he wasn't awake. It seemed impossible, but that defenseless body on the ground was still the one of the man he loathed from the bottom of his heart. It was the first time he gazed at the louse’s face without feeling the urge to send him straight back to where he came from: hell. 

His fingers shivered when he took the slender body in his arms and lifted it from the ground. He stepped back into the brook and sat down on the streambed. Cold water brushed his waist, and he had to hold the man on his lap firmly, or else the flow would have carried his senseless body away.

It scared him, the realization of how rapidly he got accustomed to the touch of Izaya's body against his own. He found it almost soothing, the way Izaya’s head warmed his chest. Maybe it was simply because there wasn't enough room in his heart for anger, overfilled as it was with grief and self-loathing. 

Despite laying in cold water, Izaya didn't wake. Shizuo didn't think it was a good idea to force an unconscious man to drink, so he decided to hold off until Izaya no longer slumbered. His gaze went blank as he surrendered to the stream brushing his aching limbs. 

Shizuo didn't know what to do now, and not only with the flea. He hadn't even the slight idea of what to do with his life, or where to go. He had just kept walking through uninhabited territories, where breathtaking landscapes came in succession, even more beautiful than the ones he had seen in his dreams.

Everything outside him had been alive and blossoming in the warm sun, despite how rotten he felt inside. Shizuo swore that nature itself had decided to mock him by denying any sign of empathy. Even the cloudless sky above him refused to become an extension of the man's grief, since it was out of question for it to cry for his sad destiny. 

After hours of wandering, Shizuo still hadn’t been able to fathom _why_ he kept crossing hill after hill. Perhaps, he thought, it was only to find a good place to die like the lonely beast he was sure to become. 

For the umpteenth time that day, his thoughts slipped back to Kasuka. 

If he hadn't been busy holding the flea, his hands would have found his hair, ruffling, pulling, uprooting blond strands until physical pain washed away the guilt eating him alive.

Suddenly, a slight movement from the body in his arms made him come back to reality. Shizuo looked down, and verified that Izaya was now awake, but it seemed the shadows of unconsciousness hadn’t unraveled completely from his soul. Red eyes were unfocused, and Shizuo was glad to see that they didn’t recognize him. He was aware that, now more than ever, he couldn't bear their usual state of annoying slits burning with sadistic interest. 

In such a state of mind, he couldn't bear the Izaya he used to know. 

The man in his arms started to wiggle out of his hold, trying to shove his whole head in the stream, in the attempt to satisfy his unbearable thirst. But firm hands kept him still.

"Oi, flea." 

_ This fucking flea is going to drown himself if he doesn't stop moving like this! _

"Calm down, dammit!"

With one arm, Shizuo trapped the raven against his chest. He cupped the palm of his own hand and took some water for Izaya to drink. As soon as he realized what he was doing, embarrassment tinted his cheeks and ears scarlet. 

_ No, no, no, no. I don't give a shit about this louse, I'm not gonna do it. _

He shook his head with such decision that the movement gave him a headache. Shizuo refused to do such an embarrassing thing. Sooner or later, he convinced himself, the flea would manage to take the water with his own hands. However, as soon as he decided to wait, he noticed the bruises and the swelling just below Izaya's hands. 

Izaya's wrists were sprained.

The responsible party was no one other than himself. The sight left him shocked; he hadn’t been aware that he made use of so much strength. Izaya's desperate attempts to free himself brought him back to reality and his current responsibilities.

Shizuo decided to ride out the embarrassment. 

He took as much water as he could in his cupped hands before he brought them to Izaya's lips. They were cracked, dry as Shizuo's own just few minutes before, and he knew how unbearable such thirst was. 

Izaya drank greedily, sucking every drop of water from his hand. 

Shizuo jolted when soft lips opened up on his palm and he perceived the flick of a tongue. His first instinct had been to draw the hand away, but he knew that such a small amount of water surely wasn't enough to alleviate the man's thirst, so he forced himself to bear it. 

He even let him lick his fingers.

Izaya was desperate in his thirst, trembling and panting for more water, so Shizuo kept on ferrying water to his mouth, until the raven stopped searching eagerly for his hand and fell unconscious again. Shizuo moved Izaya’s head to rest again on his chest and kept the other man close.

He remained still, trying to understand what had happened. _Not once_ in his life had he imagined he would ever do such a thing for the flea. 

Shizuo shot a shy glance at his worst enemy. 

Half of his face was buried in Shizuo’s dirty shirt, but on the other half the blonde could see that the water had washed away a bit of soot from fair skin. Droplets of water slid down Izaya's thin neck, cleaning the skin and displaying a wide, red mark that, if Shizuo looked carefully, resembled a hand.

Hazel eyes widened.

_ Why I am so shocked? _

Then, as his body acted of its own volition, he stood up and started walking again. Still carrying the unconscious man in his arms, he waded across the stream and delved into another wall of brambles, destination unknown.

Shizuo was sure that, at the end of that day, or the next one perhaps, he would have expended every drop of his inhuman energy, and finally death would overcome him. In the meantime, he only had to put one step after the other, in order to let that physical pain numbed his severed soul. It was the only way his instinct knew to anesthetize the grief. Shizuo didn't considered himself a thinker; rational thoughts couldn't soothe his stirred blood. He had always tried to convey every strong emotion he felt with actions. 

By the time the thick wall of vegetation gave way to a clearing, his mind had already lost lucidity. He ignored the rumbling coming from his stomach; he wouldn't stop once again to search for food. In the end, it didn't matter, after all. It would only have delayed the void he was craving for -- the lack of feelings, the lack of pain, the lack of regret. 

Hours passed by and a hot afternoon arrived. The landscape alternated between open fields and rows of wooded hills, and Shizuo hadn't yet chosen his burial place. No, _their_ burial place.

Since the few minutes in the stream, Izaya hadn't woken up, not once. For all those hours he remained unconscious, his head still nestled on Shizuo's chest. Through his shirt, Shizuo felt the smaller man's temple burn with fever, probably due to an infection setting into the wound in his knee.

Shizuo wasn't delusional. He knew they both would die soon, whenever it was that his legs stopped working, or soon thereafter. 

Around his stumbling feet, nature was wild, uncontaminated by human hands. Every time Shizuo reached the top of a hill, survival instinct made him scan the view. But there wasn't even a road, or a house in sight, just an endless expanse of green as far as his eyes could see. However, in the end, what did it matter to him? It wasn't his salvation he was searching for, but a way to atone what he had done to Kasuka. And he began to fear that even death wouldn't be enough. 

Every now and then, Shizuo wondered if Izaya was already dead, as badly as he had been injured. Whenever this doubt flashed in his mind, he stopped walking and held his breath, trying to perceive the other man's through his own skin.

_ Still alive. _

He didn't know why, but every time he realized that he wasn't alone yet, he sighed with relief. And then, he restarted walking. 

Shizuo had half-crossed an infinite field, scarlet with poppies, when he realized that he had carried Izaya with him because he couldn't stand to die alone. There was too much of nothing around him. In those lands forgotten by human hands, nature was so majestic that he wouldn't feel at ease without the warmth of Izaya's body against his own. 

He couldn't stand loneliness. 

When the sun began to disappear beyond the high hills on the horizon, he barely could feel his limbs. Both his arms and legs had lost all sensation, but he still kept walking as best as he could, holding his unconscious enemy. Tears had stopped falling hours before, but the pain in his heart only grew as his mind struggled to accept that he wouldn't see Kasuka never again. 

Shizuo didn't believe there would be still something of himself after death. It pissed him off listening to the chattering of people who constantly wracked their brains about the afterlife, and made assumptions about questions to which, clearly, there would never be an answer. He was far from being a philosopher, of course, but he wasn't a simplistic person either. Like every human being, even if he didn't consider himself one, he had questioned himself about life, and about death. It didn't take much time before he had come to his conclusions: he decided to stop worrying about death because until he was alive he still _was_ , and after, he simply wouldn't _be_ anymore. 

In that moment, however, he hoped for afterlife to exist. Just to see Kasuka one more time. He wondered if he should pray to God for the second time in his life, or if he should pray for a god to exist.

More now than ever, Shizuo realized it had been a mistake letting Kasuka join the army with him. Shizuo knew his brother's place was in their village, in the house where the grandparents who had raised them since their parents died dwelled. Sooner or later, the villagers would have forgotten that he was _the monster's little brother_ , and they would have started to reintegrate him into their society. Kasuka was such a quiet and gentle person that Shizuo was sure he wouldn't have caused trouble to anyone. 

_ Not like me _ . 

The pain scorching his feet, and the exhaustion of his mind, reminded him of the voyage he and Kasuka had made to reach the Military Academy. It had been rough. They had walked for whole days, and they were just two boys, barely more than children. It had been so exhausting that even his monstrous limbs felt worn out. But Kasuka hadn't complained, not once. He hadn't asked to stop either, and firmly refused to let his brother carry him. Shizuo knew Kasuka had been at his physical limit when they knocked on the door of the Academy, even if he hadn't let it show.

To everyone, his little brother's face looked like a blank canvas. To Shizuo, the sense hidden in those invisible drawings had always been right in front of his eyes. 

_ I'm the only one to blame _ , he kept on repeating in his head, over and over, until words lost meaning. 

Twilight tinted the clouds on the distant horizon crimson, scorching his chest with the premonition of the last glimmer before the curtains fell, and darkness descended on his existence.

 

Shizuo's physical limit was reached in a field studded with wildflowers, in the dead of night. 

Barely conscious, he tottered and, as he tried to regain balance, his knees gave up. The blond soldier crumpled to the ground, laying on his side. He still held Izaya in his arms. With his last effort, he hugged the smaller body tighter, to keep the soothing warmth close to his chest. 

Before he lost consciousness, Shizuo thought that, all in all, that wasn't a bad place to die. Their coffin would be made by tall grass, the smell of soil, and the beautiful clear sky above them. 

_ I don't deserve it. _

Then, his mind fell into darkness.

*

A few minutes later, a thick cloud covered the moon, and sank the whole landscape in utter darkness. A gust of wind ruffled the grass and made the foliage swish, as a black-clad figure materialized and slowly approached the two unconscious men laying on the ground. Through the darkness, it was barely possible to distinguish that the body had feminine features. The black ruffles of the Victorian dress she wore managed to show only few expanses of fair, translucent skin. The trumpet sleeves hid her fingers, and the full skirt covered her feet, only enhancing the illusion that she hovered on air. 

She was beautiful in her supernatural grace. 

Her features would have been human, if wasn't for the trail of black smoke streaming from her pale neck, continuously flowing out, as if there was an inextinguishable blaze contained within her body. Her head, instead of being perched atop her neck, rested under her left arm, eyes closed shut as though it was in a deep slumber. 

She was a headless being.

A _Dullahan_ _._

At her back stood her wagon, whose wheels were made by human bones. It was towed by a headless charcoal black horse. He impatiently beat his hooves on the ground and shook his mane. A neigh resounded in the air, despite the animal being as headless as his master. From his neck came out only a thick, black trail of smoke. 

The headless woman approached the humans, and the head under her arm came awake. Green eyes opened wide, and pierced the darkness with their inhuman sight. 

Her duty was to call out those two names, and take their owners' life away with her. 

When she neared the two men, however, she stopped walking and her headless neck tilted to one side, curious.

The Dullahan was far from being omniscient. The knowledge she needed was limited to humans' names but, inexplicably, she couldn't help herself from being interested by these two men. They seemed like lovers, or very close friends. Hidden in the darkness, she had seen the blonde carry the raven haired boy in his arms until his legs gave up and, right now, they waited for death together, in a tight embrace. 

But the most interesting part of all this was the sensation the Dullahan felt when she directed her glance on them. 

_ Deja-vu. _

She couldn't explain the reason why she felt some kind of _bond_ with them.

_ Izaya _ _?  _

_ Shizuo _ _?  _

Especially with _Shizuo_. All of that man was so familiar that she could hear his voice resound like an echo in her subconscious, like she had listened to it so many times before. 

The woman couldn't name the feeling warming her shriveled heart. It didn't even correspond to a word in the language her thoughts spoke. Never, in whole centuries of life, had she experienced a similar sensation. 

The headless woman asked herself if, perhaps, she had known them in a past life, or in an alternate universe. The thought alone unsettled her; although she was a supernatural being, she felt the anxiety of recognizing her existence as a part of a larger and completely inexplicable system. __

A loud neigh stopped her train of thought, and made her jolt. The woman realized she was delaying her duty, and her trustworthy Shooter was losing patience. With a shake of her neck, she decided to overlook that awkward sensation and complete her duty as Dullahan.

Above her arm, her lips opened. She was ready to utter the two names-- 

Silence.

Another neigh broke the deafening quiet, and a blast of wind rustled her silken dress.

Then, more silence.

Her mouth was open, but no sound came out of it. 

She couldn't kill them. 

Not because she wasn't capable. This should be a cakewalk for a spirit of death like her, if it wasn't for a remote part of her mind suggesting she would regret it, sooner or later. Despite the fact that claiming human lives was rooted in the depth of her nature, like sleeping or walking, there was _that sensation_ that made her stop her own voice from blurting names like usual. Pale hands crossed on her chest and trembled, as smoke came out from her neck in a turbulent flow, mirroring the turmoil in her conscience. 

_ What to do? _

The inner voice coming from her severed head whispered, with its usual mellifluous tone, “ _Do it, it's your duty, and your nature as Dullahan. They're not like you, you're an immortal spirit, they're mortal beings. There could never be any bond between you and them. You couldn't be more different, more incompatible.”_

However, the sensation in her guts was adamant: _Don't do it._

It didn't matter how much she tried to ignore it; despite the fact that it was only a feeling, it had the strong, sure voice of certainty.

She decided to delay the two men's death for the time she needed to rationalize those sensations. __

She turned, jumped on her wagon, and left that place with the same silent grace she arrive with. Until the place where the two men rested was out of sight, she kept turning her neck to look back at it, incapable of explaining to herself what had happened there. 

*

After the headless woman went away, stillness reigned again on those uninhabited lands. 

But it didn't last for long. A cone of light scorched the darkness, and soon a man holding a flashlight approached. He was out of breath, as though he had run like hell for a long while. His eyes searched for something hidden in the darkness and, when they didn't find it, he fell to his knees.

His hands tangled in dark brown strands, eyes wide open and unfocused under thick lenses. His heartbeat was still frantic, but more from adrenaline than effort. He was aware that once it slowed down, it would leave only remnants of bitterness. 

It scorched the blood in his veins, the pain of unrequited love.

Hands closed in fists, teeth gritted--

_ Help... _

He perceived it. His ears had caught a lament, the call of a barely audible voice. At first, the man jolted with fear, since there was nobody in sight. 

He was a doctor and, as a man of science, he had tried to find an explanation based on the knowledge of physical phenomena. But the man was also aware that those uncontaminated lands were reigned by _things_ beyond the human comprehension. Presences whose existence blurred the boundary between life and death. 

Curiosity overwhelmed him, as he lifted his head and tried to observe where the voice came from. But it wasn't enough. He stood up, and began searching in the tall grass for the source of the sound.

_ Help... _

His heart pounded frantically, from both excitement and fear as his mind guessed at what he could find hidden in that field. 

Suddenly, something from behind his back yanked him and panic struck him. Cold sweat dripped from the man's forehead, and his heart almost burst in his ribcage. His rational way of thinking, however, drove away the fear, and made him understand it was only his white lab-coat that got caught by a bramble. He exhaled, trying to slow down the heartbeat before restart searching. 

_ Somebody... please...  _

It was a male voice. It was so weak it that it would have been impossible to hear if there had been an extra puff of wind. When the bespectacled man located the place where the voice came from, he immediately rushed toward that spot. As he arrived at the source of the sound, his grey eyes widened in surprise behind the glasses. 

Two men were laying on the ground. One was tall and blond, the other a smaller, dark-haired boy about twenty and something years old. From under his spectacles, the doctor's gaze shifted quickly from injury to injury, trying to understand the whole situation. The men’s bodies were covered with a variety of wounds, from superficial scratches to deep cuts, burns, and, on one what it seemed a gunshot wound. 

The blond was unconscious and held the smaller man in a tight embrace. The latter was awake, but barely, his red eyes half-closed. With difficulty, the boy's mouth was trying to formulate the words to call for help. When he spotted the man in lab-coat who stood in front of him, he tried to lift one arm, and then he lost consciousness.

The doctor knew there was no time to lose.


	4. Lights will guide you home

Crickets chirping. 

Air cut by blades.

And his own breath.

When Shizuo woke up, the first thing he saw was a white surface, broken only by a wooden fan spinning around. He realized he lay on a bed, with an incredibly soft mattress. Under his fingertips, the sheets were smooth and smelled of soap and another scent he couldn't quite identify, even though he might already know it. It was a pleasant sensation, being enveloped in a white, soft cocoon, like being wrapped in a cloud. His hands opened to let fingers savor the cotton texture, and inhaled deeply. His sense of smell then noticed that the space around him was filled with the antiseptic stench of disinfectants. 

Perhaps the whole room was. 

_ Room? _

From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of fluttering spots on a blue setting. He turned his head, and there it was: on the white wall to his left, there was a window. Outside, all he could see were leaves and a clear, blue sky.

A sudden question hit him. 

_ Where is Kasuka? _

With a jerk, he sat up. Shizuo realized immediately that his limbs felt numb, and they were trapped in tight spirals of gauze. Pausing to take in his surroundings, he observed that the space around him consisted of a bedroom, a quite big one, painted white, with one window, a wardrobe and two wooden doors, one in the wall in front of him, and one in the right one. 

When he turned his head right, Shizuo found he wasn't alone. On the same double bed he had been laying on was a thin, pale man with black hair, fast asleep. His body was covered with gauze and patches, and an I.V. was stuck in his right arm. Even if the man's features were hidden by all those medications, the blonde immediately recognized him.

Fists clenched and his jaw tightened. _Why is the fucking flea here?_

Before a growl could escape his lips, the door on the right opened, and a bespectacled man entered. He wore a white lab-coat, like the ones Shizuo had seen on doctors in the infirmary at Academy. As one might imagine given his violent habits, he was used to passing a lot of time there. 

When the man noticed Shizuo was awake, his grey eyes widened in surprise. Then, he smiled. 

"Good morning! I'm glad you're awake," he said in a shrill voice, approaching a Shizuo who was so confused that, for the moment, he forgot that the louse lay defenseless on the same bed. 

"I'm Kishitani Shinra, nice to meet you! I'm a doctor, and I'll be taking care of you two until you’re all healed. And you are…?" he inquired, extending his right hand and waiting for Shizuo to shake it. 

The blonde stared with disbelieving eyes at the man, trying to discern whether the doctor was a figment of his imagination or not. Everything in his head was so blurry, like surreal fragments of a dream just barely beyond his grasp. Shizuo wasn't even sure what happened to make him lose his senses; he remembered flashes of breathtaking landscapes, and an unbearable pain nestled in his heart.

Shizuo couldn’t explain to himself where _Kasuka_ was, or why he wasn't in the military camp. And then, why was Izaya there with him? Injured, nonetheless. Dreamlike visions of red eyes and bruised, pale skin filled his mind, but he couldn't unravel the story between those images, as they all seemed incongruent and inconsequential. 

Shizuo was pulled from his train of thought when he finally noticed the hand, open in front of him.

"Shizuo..." 

"Glad to meet you, Shizuo-kun! I found both of you unconscious, in a field not far from here. You were quite injured, especially your friend. Hmm, let's see... Burns on various portions of his skin, especially on his legs--" the white-clad man began to count on his fingers, big eyes darting up in concentration. 

"A gunshot to his knee -- he was lucky that the bullet went straight through! -- both his wrists sprained, and signs of strangulation on his neck. He’ll be fine soon enough, but I was wondering what could have happened..." 

The man fell silent, as if he was too focused on formulating hypotheses in his mind to keep talking. Then, grey eyes moved to stare at Shizuo.

"You have minor scratches all over your body along with some rather deep ones on your feet, almost as though you had walked on your bare feet for days. But I daresay you're healing with an _impressive_ speed."

Under the spectacles, the doctor's gaze gleamed with curiosity.

Shizuo was shocked. As the doctor talked, little by little, the links between the fragments of memories had joined in his mind, reminding him of the reason behind every injury on each of them. When reality hit him, he felt his heart sink, so deep it left just void inside his chest. 

_ Kasuka _ _ is gone _ .

It hadn't been just a nightmare, and despite all odds, he was still alive. Once again, he cursed fate for being so merciless. After the desperate wandering, the embrace of anticipated death had tasted so sweet. Shizuo had already feltthe guilt seeping out his being alongside his life once before. " _Why am I still alive?!"_ his inner self screamed, before realizing he already knew the answer. In his conscience, Shizuo had convinced himself he wasn't dead by now because death wouldn't be enough to atone. How stupid he had been, he thought; it was far too simple forget his guilt in annihilation. 

Shinra's attentive gaze didn't miss the sudden change of expression in the blonde's features, but he didn't ask for an explanation. He just stared at the man in front of him, trying to read something, _anything_ , in those irises to satisfy the curiosity percolating in his brain. 

"Don't worry, Shizuo-kun, I don't know what happened, but you can stay here until you feel like it. You two seem pretty close, so I hope you don't mind sharing the same room... You know--" He sighed and, after he turned his head absentmindedly towards those white walls, a sad smile stretched his lips. 

But Shizuo didn't, _couldn't_ notice it, as his eyes no longer focused on his surroundings; his attention had turned inward.

"You know, this was my father's house, but now he's travelling around the world for research, and I'm sure he won’t be back for who knows how many years. I don't even have the slightest idea where he could be right now, and if he'll find what he is looking for. It's such an uncertain path, the one he decided to follow. Many would say he's spending too much time and money over an old, insubstantial legend. I just hope he succeeds."

Shinra's gaze came back to Shizuo, waiting for a reply. But from his patient's vacant eyes, he realized that the blonde was still too disoriented to keep pace with a conversation. The doctor smiled and gently patted Shizuo's shoulder. 

The former soldier jolted, as though he had been awakened from a nightmare, and his eyes focused again on the man in front of him. 

Now that he had a better look at Shinra, Shizuo noticed that his round face suggested that the doctor was more or less the same age as he was. But Shizuo swore there was a glimmer of something ancient in those grey eyes, something that made Shinra look way older. The doctor, however, looked away before Shizuo could understand what it was.

"Don't worry about your friend, he’ll be fine. I don't know what happened, and you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I would bet my life that you saved his life. With those wounds he couldn't go anywhere, and I'm sure you did your best to save him. Don't torment yourself, just rest."

Shinra would have turned to go away, if Shizuo's hand hadn't tightened around the doctor's forearm. The grip became even firmer, as he uttered out of desperation: 

"Do you know something about a massacre of soldiers? It happened -- what day is today? How many days did I sleep?"

Shinra's face contorted in pain as soon as he felt that tight grip squeezing his flesh like metal pincers. He was sure not even a man in full health could be gifted with such a strength, much less an injured one. Even with the uncomfortable, vice-like hand clamping on his arm, Shinra couldn't stop himself from being even more curious about Shizuo. 

When Shizuo noticed the spasm of pain seeping through Shinra's features, he immediately released his hold. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, mortified, as he lowered his head to hide his face under blond bangs.

Shizuo jolted when he felt the doctor's hand on his shoulder, warm and reassuring. 

"I'm fine."

The blonde lifted his head. The bespectacled man smiled gently, like nothing had happened. 

"Hmm," the doctor looked up, hand on his chin in concentration."I heard there had been a clash between the armies of two nearby city-states. A sneak attack, they said, so well planned that the losing party had been completely exterminated. Apparently they’d been targeting a pretty important person in the camp -- a commandant, perhaps. Or a strategist, I can't quite remember -- But I heard there were no survivors. Why do you ask?"

When Shizuo didn't answer and, instead, lowered his gaze once again, the doctor understood his patient wasn't ready to talk about what kind of ghosts haunted him. 

"Anyway, you slept for two whole days. But I suggest you to rest a bit more, after you've eaten obviously! You must be hungry; I put you on an I.V. drip, but I’d guess you would enjoy a proper meal!" Shinra chattered, making his way out of the room. "Wait just a little bit, I'm going to prepare you something to eat! I'll be back soon!"

Shizuo's gaze followed the white-clad man until he disappeared over the threshold. The doctor had left the door slightly ajar, so he tilted his head out slightly, trying to figure out what lay beyond the room. To his disappointment, he could only see a wooden floor and the white wall of a hallway. 

He heard the man's steps going down a staircase, wood creaking rhythmically under bare feet, and gradually disappearing. Shizuo still focused his whole being in trying to perceive them again. He couldn't define the exact reason why. Perhaps, a part of him hoped the doctor would come back and say he had been wrong, and some soldiers managed to save themselves, or that the enemy had taken some as prisoners of war. Another part of him couldn't stand the weight of silence right now. 

Shizuo waited. Some minutes later, he again heard the sound of steps, approaching, along with the clinking of porcelain.

The doctor nudged the door with his foot, and appeared on the threshold carrying a tray with a bowl of steamy, _oh-god-smells-delicious_ soup, a plate with two halves of a sandwich, and a glass of water. The blonde's mouth watered. 

"Here I am, Shizuo-kun! I warmed up some soup, I hope you like it, even if it's summer," Shinra chirped, then he carefully put the tray on the blonde's lap. 

Shizuo was astonished; everything seemed so appetizing, a wonderful change from the (sometimes literal) slop they had been served in the army.As soon as he grabbed the spoon, the blonde heard the doctor turn to leave the room.

"Be careful, it's hot! Now I have to go, I have a full schedule of patient visits! I'll come back to check on you and your friend soon, but in the meantime feel free to call me if you need something. If I'm not making a house call in the village, I'll be in the clinic attached to my house, next door. Enjoy your meal and rest, Shizuo-kun!" the doctor said, waving his hand. 

Shinra was already on the threshold when the man at his back called out, "Wait!" 

The doctor stopped, turning his head toward Shizuo.

"Wait, please," Shizuo repeated in a softer tone of voice that fairly dripped embarrassment. "…Thank you."

Shinra giggled. "Oh, it was nothing at all!"

"When I feel better, I’ll find a way to repay you!" 

"But you don't have to--"

"Please!"

Shinra was baffled. The blond man sounded so desperate, as if it was a matter of life and death. Grey eyes scrutinized him with curiosity, trying to understand the reasons buried under those burning eyes.

"Got it. But, for now, try to rest a bit." 

Waving his hand one last time, Shinra took his leave and closed the door at his back.

 

Once alone, the silence amplified the weight of reality. 

Eyes widened in pain as his ribcage constricted his heart and lungs, leaving him unable to breath. Grief melted his thoughts in white noise, so loud that he clenched his fists on his chest. If it was up to him, his nails would surely find a way to scrape off the flesh shielding his heart.

But he couldn't do it. 

Once again, he couldn't embrace the nothingness.

This time, it was out of a sense of duty toward the one who had save his life and offered him shelter out of the goodness of his heart. Shizuo refused to burden someone once again. He could let grief and self-loathing overwhelm him only after he had repaid Shinra for his kindness.

It was just a matter of time, after all. 

His gaze came back to his worst enemy. 

The same went for Izaya. That doctor was so nice to him, and Shizuo didn't want to bother this new man with his personal hatred for the flea. Shizuo couldn't even tell the doctor that he preferred a room to himself, and the further from his nemesis, the better. 

He had just to stay strong. Just until his debt was paid. 

Shizuo shifted his attention from Izaya to that homemade meal and, for few minutes, he tried to shut out the pain as he enjoyed the delicious food.

As soon as he finished eating, he laid down on the soft bed and a dreamless sleep overcame him.

*

The next day, Shizuo was already healed. Almost all of the scratches were gone, while thin trails of reddened skin took the place of the deepest cuts.

The mental wounds, however, remained, deep and open and raw.

To soothe those kind of injuries, Shizuo usually enjoyed Kasuka's presence. Or else, he walked. With time, Shizuo had noticed that the physical activity made him feel better -- basking in the sun, and absentmindedly put one step after another, shutting his mind in a trance state while the world flowed around him. 

Even if he was aware the sorrow wouldn't be alleviated this time, Shizuo couldn't stay all day in bed, face to face with the truth. And face to face with Izaya \-- still asleep, but Izaya nonetheless. 

He decided to get up.

The wooden floor creaked under his weight and it felt warm under his sore feet. His mind immediately made the comparison with the concrete floor in the Military Academy; it was so cold under his bare soles that it had made him wince every winter morning.

Then, awakened after so many years, emerged older memories, reminiscence of the floor in his old home -- far away now.

It hurts how much the sensation felt the same.

Warm wood, creaking sounds. 

Nostalgia engulfed his whole heart while he recollected long forgotten images of his childhood, so blurry and obscure he wondered if they took place only in his dreams. A room entirely made of dark wood, a dim light seeping through a narrow window. On the floor, a crawling and giggling baby. 

_ Kasuka _ .

The memory of strong arms and smiling faces were so familiar, and yet buried so deep inside of him he couldn't distinguish their features, just like a jigsaw puzzle he was no longer able to solve.

Shizuo tried to push the memories back, in an effort to not being overwhelmed by pain, while he walked across the distance that separated him from the closest door. He opened it, and discovered there was a small bathroom, almost entirely covered by light blue, glossy tiles. 

He entered, catching a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror. Shizuo found out that the man looking back at him had large, dark circles under his eyes, despite the fact that he had slept for days. 

Without hesitation, he opened the shower faucet and began undressing.

Shizuo quickly figured out that he wasn't wearing his own clothes. When he realized that the bespectacled doctor had probably thrown them away, he felt a sting of sorrow. Not for the clothes themselves, but because they were the only things left from his previous life. 

His dirty clothes, _and the flea_. 

He frowned. Even thinking about that insect made him furious.

Once naked, he dashed under the warm water jet and mentally blessed the doctor for leaving a bottle of lavender flavored shampoo in the shower basket. 

Half an hour later, Shizuo came out from the bathroom with a towel around his hips, to search for clean clothes in the wardrobe. The shadow of a smile appeared on his lips when the blonde realized that the doctor had left him a t-shirt, long sweatpants and a pair of boxers. He grabbed the garments, darting back into the bathroom and dressing quickly. Once he had finished, he exited the room and walked straight to the other door, the one he knew led to the hallway. 

He glanced out the window as he passed by, and then froze, hazel eyes widening in astonishment.

Before him lay a hillside entirely covered by tiled roofs. Houses were separated by narrow lanes twisting down the slope until they melted into an infinite expanse of blue, glistening water. 

_ The sea. _

Shizuo had seen it in movies and photos, of course, but never with his own eyes, having spent his whole life on the interior of the mainland, first in his native country village, and then in the Military Academy.

Mesmerized by that captivating view, he didn't notice the steps approaching. He jolted when he heard the voice at his back.

"Good morning, Shizuo-kun! Oh sorry, did I scare you?" Shizuo shook his head, but before he could get a word in, Shinra prattled on. 

"Mmh, let's see... The t-shirt fits you, but the sweatpants are a bit short," the doctor stated, one hand on his chin. "How do you feel today?"

"Better, thanks." 

"I'm glad! Mind if I give a quick look?" 

Shizuo shook his head. Shinra smiled, and once his patient sat down, he began checking the other man’s wounds. Soon, the smile on the doctor's face changed into an expression of pure astonishment, as he realized his patient was already healed. He was getting better faster than the normal, but such speed was just--

_ Inexplicable.  _

Shizuo tensed up the instant he read the sudden transformation in the doctor's features. He had seen a similar expression on the faces of the many doctors and nurses who had visited him in the past, after he’d come in injured from one brawl or another. Shizuo was aware it would be just a matter of seconds before surprise would shift into dread. __

However, the feared but expected questions about his monstrous body never came. The bespectacled man quickly returned to his relaxed and smiling self. He even began humming an incomprehensible song.

After what for Shizuo seemed an unbearably long lapse of time, the doctor lifted his head and looked at him through dark brown strands. The former soldier noticed that his smile, despite being so kind, didn't reach far enough to warm up his grey eyes.

"Good, good! Your wounds are healing well! Do you want something to eat for breakfast?" 

"No, thanks, I'm not hungry. Um... If it's not a problem, I would like to go out for a walk."

"Go ahead, Shizuo-kun! But I heartily recommend that you not strain your body too much. And let me prepare you some sandwiches, in case you feel like eating something." 

The doctor headed out of the room. Shizuo followed him, and before he crossed the threshold, he turned to cast a last glance at the body laying unconscious on the bed. His gesture didn't escape Shinra's attentive eyes, which interpreted it as deep affection and concern. 

When Shizuo stepped out of the room, Shinra chuckled.

"Haha sorry, you need a pair of shoes, of course!" 

A few minutes later, Shizuo exited from the doctor's house with the only pair of sneakers that didn't constrict his feet too much, along with a shopping bag containing sandwiches and a bottle of water. Shinra was so kind and generous towards him, and he felt he didn't deserve it, at all. So, he decided that his first order of business would be to find a job to repay the man as soon as possible. 

When he made the first step out the door, his hand immediately shadowed his eyes from the blinding sun rays. If he was going to be staying here for a while, he really needed a pair of sunglasses. Even if he loved basking in the sun, he hated having an excess of light ( _though not as much as he hated the flea_ ); it was too painful for his eyes to stand. His heart tightened at the memory of the pair of sunglasses Kasuka had given him for his eighteenth birthday. They were beautiful, with light blue lenses and a thin metallic frame. His little brother must have saved his money for long time to manage to buy such luxurious glasses, so Shizuo treated them as gently as he could, to avoid breaking them involuntarily. 

Now, their grotesquely twisted frames rested under layers of soot. 

Once Shizuo's sight adjusted, he directed his glance to the small but neat garden around him. Surrounded by a well-groomed flowerbed was a tree with knotty trunk and branches. Its crown of casted a shadow over the expanse of grass lawn, which was divided into two sections by a stone path which curved through the green until it reached a wrought-iron gate. A hedge surrounded the garden, embracing it in a quiet atmosphere. 

Shizuo walked along the path and, after he opened the small gate, he came to a downhill road displaying a full overview of the village. A row of houses overlooked one side of the lane, while on the other, there was a railing. Over it, the ground gradually descended, covered by houses and narrow alleys where people walked at a leisurely pace, carrying shopping bags and greeting each other. 

The road followed the hillside and, after a hairpin turn, led to the heart of the coastal village. Here, house fronts defined the road width, and the result was so narrow that Shizuo noted it would be impossible for two cars to pass through simultaneously. In some particularly tight parts, it was difficult for even few people to cross it at the same time.

When the passers-by bumped into the blond man, a surprised expression flashes across their faces. They stopped their walk for few moments, following Shizuo's tall frame with their gaze, trying to guess whose relative he was. Then, they continued on, after casting one last glance, disappearing around a corner or crossed the threshold of a wooden door. 

Shizuo didn't care, he just kept walking with his hands shoved in the sweatpants' pockets, the shopping bag repeatedly bouncing off his leg with a steady rhythm. He absentmindedly stared at the cobblestone which composed the streets' pavement. Only now and then did Shizuo lift his head to observe how the village's morphology had changed. 

Since he had arrived in the village centre, he noticed that not only the streets, but also the houses were different from the ones he had seen previously. Shizuo was used to apartment buildings or, at least, houses with their own garden which separated them from the street, like Shinra's and his childhood home. In this village, ancestors had built their residences with the sides merged together, and then each house had grown up developing its own characteristic, like human beings. There hadn't been attention for the bigger picture, as different colors and number of floors coexisted side by side, giving the village an eccentric look.

The alleys' walls smelled of stones, humidity, and polished wood from the doors. The reigning scent was quite different from the one of concrete and sweat Shizuo linked with the Military Academy. And it was the complete antithesis of the city's smell, composed of the dissonance between smog and a medley of different foods. 

Both in appearance and smell, it was like the village belonged to bygone days.

Shizuo moved onward amongst the maze of alleys, and let instinct chose the way in place of a map or directions. 

By chance, he arrived in a quiet square, with a tree contained in a flowerbed made with stone bricks. Feeling he needed to rest a bit, Shizuo sat down on the low wall. Habit made him search for his cigarettes, making him realize that the last time he smoked one seemed an eternity ago.

Obviously, he was without them at the very moment he _really_ craved for a smoke.

The sense of irritation due to lack of nicotine had Shizuo drumming his fingers on the stone, so hard that the touch produced small fissure on the surface, along with faint cracking sounds. Luckily for him, there weren't passers-by in sight.

While the blonde drowned in frustration, a fragrance of bread and _…cakes? Maybe?_ that had barely left the oven filled his nostrils, making him drool. Nicotine and sweets were his addictions, and he craved both now.

Since there was nothing Shizuo could do without money, he decided to blow off steam walking. Without hesitation, he turned down a street, refusing to check which shop was the source of the fragrance. 

The dissatisfaction, however, didn't disappear as easily as it flowed into irritability. As he stomped on the ground, in a remote part of his mind, Shizuo hoped for a mocking Izaya to appear in front of his eyes, just to let him vent his inner turmoil beating every inch of life out of that lithe body.

While he basked in thoughts of violence, the angry blonde arrived at the end of the lane he was walking through. Beyond a wide asphalt street navigated by both cars and bicycles lay a harbor full of boats. They were all small ones, with the exception of a huge cargo ship. To Shizuo's right, the road ended in a big square where a handful of cars had been parked. To his left, the street ran until his eyes could see, disappearing behind a peninsula far in the distance.

Shizuo was so amazed by such a view he forgot the irritation he felt in his guts. 

Around him, people kept on strolling and chatting, while he just stood motionless in the middle of the lane, admiring that multitude of boats rocked slightly by dark ripples. And beyond, there was the biggest expanse of water he had ever seen in his whole life. 

Along with the astonishment, however, a deep sense of melancholy overwhelmed him. He hated how strong his emotions had always been. They became overpowering and he could nothing to counteract them. Deep down, he was sure he wasn't _strong enough_ to master them.

Before he was even aware of his own movements, the former soldier began, once again, to put one foot after another. Turning left, he crossed the street and walked along the wide sidewalk between the harbor and the asphalt road.

Even in his absent-minded wandering, he noticed that there were more people here than inside the village. They seemed to enjoy their lives, eating at the small tables of the cafes on the other side of the street, or strolling around. He bumped into a pair of them, but he was too immersed in his trance to excuse himself properly.

As Shizuo kept walking, the harbor gave way to a sandy shore where few people basked in the sun. It was a rather quiet place. Instinctively, he realized he liked it. The street was close, but only infrequent cars passed on it, keeping the spot serene.

Out of curiosity, he decided to go down the sidewalk, to continue his wandering at the water's edge. 

Shizuo hissed when sand filled his shoes, sliding under his soles in a warm wave. After he took the sneakers off, he rolled the doctor's sweatpants up to his knees and walked until the water touched his feet. It was a strange sensation, but not unpleasant at all. The cold water soothed his tired feet and the sensation of the sand giving way just slightly under his soles unwound his nerves. 

 

With just the sea to his right and the sand and street to his left, he kept on walking for hours, his mind blank.

The shore didn't seemed to end, and it was totally empty by now, as was the asphalt road. The village had disappeared long ago, giving way to an infinite succession of wooded hills.

It was midafternoon when Shizuo finally felt his stomach rumbling. He remembered the sandwiches, and blessed Shinra for the umpteenth time that day. Once he sat down on the sand, he unwrapped the food and began eating, his gaze fixed on the sea. 

As the lunch filled his stomach, a sudden sting of sorrow overwhelmed him. 

When Shizuo realized that tears streamed down his cheeks, he was already crying his heart out. It didn't matter how far he went, how many breathtaking landscapes he saw, the sense of guilt and grief for losing Kasuka would never leave him. It would be his burden, and he couldn't release himself to death until he had settled his debt to the doctor.

And then? His mind could envision nothing other than darkness.

Only when he felt that the tears had dried on his skin did Shizuo decide to head back.

 

When he began to spot houses on the horizon once more, the sun had already set. While to his left the sea was pitch black, to his right the hillside shone with thousands of lights from the houses and lampposts, flickering in the night air like a carpet of fireflies. A cold breeze made him shiver, pulling him from the trance state he fell into after deciding to come back.

Just as he arrived in the village, Shizuo remembered he had forgot to search for a job. 

Feeling deeply ashamed, he crossed the wide road that ran along the sea. Then, Shizuo turned down a random street which he thought might lead to the heart of the village. His sense of direction had never been his strong point, and he usually let his instinct guide him, but in this tangled labyrinth he couldn’t seem to manage reaching the road which led to Shinra's house. 

The wind kept on blowing, cold and salty on his skin. It smelled like the preamble to a storm. 

Minutes passed by, and he still hadn't found a way to reach the panoramic street. When Shizuo was on verge of losing his patience, he heard voices, just around the corner – male, he thought. Shizuo heard them laughing, and he thought they were just a group of friends enjoying themselves. It couldn’t hurt to ask them for directions.

Then, he heard another voice, pleading for them to stop. 

Shizuo sprung in action, without wasting a single second. He ran, until he found himself face to face with the voices' owners. 

In a dark corner, a group of about ten drunkards were on verge of beating up _one_ man, smaller than them, with tanned skin and dark brown dreadlocks. Under a pair of glasses, the man's eyes were wide with terror, like he already knew he had no chance of escape.  Shizuo noticed that he already had a drunkard's fist curled around his red shirt. The sight was enough for the monster inside Shizuo to wake in all its destructive power. But still, Shizuo held on to the last drop of calmness that indignation hadn't wiped away, and warned the men. 

"What the fuck are you doing, hah?!" the blond growled, hands in his pockets and head high. "Ten against one isn't quite fair, you know."

The drunkards replied at first with expressions of shock, then they tottered around him, instable as zombies. Their facial expressions were grotesque, and mocking gazes attempted to threaten Shizuo. One of them approached the blonde so closely that Shizuo could smell the stink of alcohol and sweat. The drunkard was taller than him, and probably double Shizuo's weight.

"Do you want to play the hero, eh?" the man whispered, his face few inches from Shizuo's, who replied only with the twitch of a single eyebrow. He had just arrived in this village, his target was finding a job, and he didn't want to destroy everything out of rage once again. 

"Oi fuckboy," another man mocked. "Do you know who you're messing with? We're former prizefighters, you know? In our country, we're the strongest heavyweights for sure! If our matches hadn't been rigged we'll be loaded right now -- It was all a fucking conspiracy of those fucking rich brats -- Eh, anyway! Now that you know it, do you still wanna play with us so much? We'll beat you up, and then we'll come back to the shortie." 

Shizuo kept the faux calmness on his face, hoping for them to walk away and leave the dreadlocked man alone.

"Aaaah, now I get it. He's looking for this," the man close to Shizuo's face uttered, studying the blonde's face. "I bet he craves being beaten up and taken like a dog by ten men."

Shizuo's fists clenched as the man grabbed his chin. A chorus of laughs and whistles rung through the air, stirring up the blood in his veins even more.

"I think I'll spare your pretty face. I'm not even into men, but you're a real beauty, you know," the man added, moving even closer, until he whispered in Shizuo's ears. "Too bad there's only one of you. Just think of all the fun we could have of you had a brother--"

Words flew from his mouth directly onto Shizuo's fist, as though the words had removed the cover of a surprise box hiding a compressed spring. Before the drunkard ever realized it, Shizuo's knuckles collided with his jawbone with the same wrecking power as a steel beam on glass. The man passed out before the pain hit him, before he could see that the blow had thrown his teeth in the air like confetti.

Choked cries ( _of pain? or was it surprise?_ ) echoed in the silent alleys, barely muffling the sound of fists against flesh and muscles and bones. If a passer-by had walked by that place, he would have counted a total of ten cries, followed by ten loud thumps of bodies collapsing on cobblestone.

 

When Shizuo came back to his usual self, he was a panting mess. His whole body was bathed in sweat and in blood that wasn't his. As he understood what happened, and recognized the all-too-familiar situation, fear overwhelmed him. Hazel eyes searched among the battered bodies at his feet in desperation, searching for the only one he hoped to have spared. 

Shizuo felt immensely relieved when he recognized the dreadlocks man coming toward him, avoiding stepping on the unconscious men on the ground. 

The smaller male looked baffled, as though he had just seen something beyond human capabilities. Even so, he composed himself and spoke.

"T-that was close! Thank you. I would have had no chance against them on my own. Usually this is a quiet village, but every now and then, some mariners stop here to refuel their boats. By the way... are you a pro? Good lord, you just knocked out ten massive men in the blink of an eye."

However, the former soldier was still coming to terms with what had happened just few moments before, and he was too shocked to answer. The dreadlocks man noticed that the blonde was not entirely present, so he decided to approach him. He sensed there was something strange in the tall man's behavior, as though he wasn't fully himself while he was brawling, and now he had returned to consciousness.

Once he was closer, he talked again, with the calmest voice he was able to produce. 

"It's all okay now. You saved me, I don't know what would have happened to me if you didn't arrived. Thank you so much... By the way, I'm Tanaka Tom. Pleased to meet you." Tom smiled at him, and lifted his right hand. 

Shizuo couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something in the man's voice or in his attitude which reassured him. Despite the fact that Tom had witnessed the explosion of the blonde's wrath, there wasn't trace of fear in the man gestures, as his arms were relaxed at his sides and his gaze was direct but gentle -- he wasn’t afraid to meet Shizuo’s eye like some were. Shizuo instinctively realized it was a calmness that could be trusted, crystalline in the absence of repressed aggressiveness.

"Shizuo," he whispered while they shook hands, making certain to drop his surname. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Tom nodded. 

"I don't have a scratch. They would have beat me to death if it wasn't for you, Shizuo-kun."

Shizuo blushed. He felt it was a lifetime ago, the last occasion on which his inhuman strength hadn't simply caused destruction, but ended up saving somebody. 

Though, and he would never admit it, it had really been just few days.

"How can I ever thank you?"

Not a single doubt fogged the blonde's mind.

"A job – I’d like to find a job!"


	5. The razor's edge

It was late in the evening when Shizuo crossed the threshold of Shinra's house, opening the door with the spare key the doctor gave him.He was greeted by the sepulchral atmosphere of a living room drenched with silent shadows. The plain wall in front of him was adorned only by the light of the window, an oversized, abstract painting. There wasn't any sign of life, aside from the faint tick from the clock that had just struck eleven. As he would expect at this hour, Shinra had already gone back to his own house. Shizuo wondered if the doctor was worried that his patient had spent the whole day outside. 

After walking for hours, the soles of his feet felt sore and the aftertaste of adrenaline from the fight still lingered in his chest. At least, he had managed to find a work. 

Tanaka Tom offered him a job as bartender in the pub he owned. Since Shizuo had never bartended before, Tom offered to help him tomorrow, teaching him the basics. The pay was ridiculously high for a starting salary; Shizuo swore Tom raised it out of sheer gratitude. Shizuo promised himself that he would try his best to keep his strength at bay, so as to not cause Tom problems.

He discarded the stained clothes in the laundry bin in the guest toilet. His nose turned up at the smell of blood and at the memory of those men’s breath, stinking with alcohol. But more than everything, he flinched as those men's words echoed in his ears. Rage laced his chest, mingling with the sorrow in which his soul drowned.

Wearing only a pair of boxers, he stomped into the bedroom. 

An eerie atmosphere reigned inside the room. Everything rested under a thick veil of darkness, in a stasis that seemed only apparent. Shizuo had the sensation there was something unsettling hidden in the dark, making the air heavier. He could almost smell something that didn't seem right, above the stench of blood still lingering in his nostrils like a phantom.

The brooding sky, framed in a window left slightly ajar, was the only source of light. Far in the distance, flashes of light scorched the backdrop of night, a precursor to a storm. A shiver ran up his spine when a blast of wind made the leaves outside swish and blew the white curtain up like a sail.

Shizuo shook his head, trying to convince himself it was just a conditioned response to the nightmarish surroundings.

He lay down under the sheets, on his back, and closed his eyes.

_ Fuck. _

How was he supposed to fall asleep surrounded by the flea's smell? 

Shizuo turned his head right and, even in the dim light, he recognized Izaya's frame. It was still partially covered with bandages, even if there were much less than this morning. His foe was asleep on his back, lips slightly parted. Shizuo could hear his breath, slow and deep. 

A sudden question flashed in his mind -- _what's gonna happen when the flea will wake? _Shizuo could bear his enemy's proximity as long as it was silent, but how could he contain his anger from destroying everything when Izaya would wake in all his usual, mocking glory? It made him anxious thinking how, with just a spark of wrath, he could open craters in the bedroom walls and floor, break the wardrobe, tear the sheets, shatter the window glass. His breath hitched in his throat as he imagined what Shinra’s reaction would be.

He was on the razor's edge.

Would he be able to keep his temper at bay while in the constant presence of his sworn enemy?

His self-control had always vanished at the sound of Izaya's name; how was he supposed to avoid destroying anything while living with flea, dealing with him every day, sleeping in the same bed, eating the same food? 

Shizuo wondered if he hadn't died because he was destined for this circle of hell while still living. 

It was a cold comfort but, at least for the moment, he was aware he could rest. He would face the problem once Izaya was awake which, hopefully, wouldn’t be for a few days, since his injuries were so bad. Right now, Shizuo was still too tired and broken to worry about the future. 

A yawn escaped his lips. 

*

Meanwhile, Izaya waited. 

He waited, patiently, for a sign proving that the monster at his side had fallen asleep. It had been difficult to restrain himself from laughing when Shizuo had turned towards him a few minutes ago. Izaya had sensed his thoughts, Shizuo's preoccupation with destroying the house belonging to someone who had been so kind with him. 

When Izaya finally heard the rhythm of Shizuo's breath slowing down, he turned, facing his enemy. 

Blood-red eyes opened.

The monster was asleep on his back with arms bent near his head, bare chest expanding and contracting in wide waves. Izaya smirked as he recalled that those were the same arms which had held him in a tight, affectionate embrace and, later, had tried to kill him, _failing_. Even if  Izaya had wracked his brain, he couldn't find out the reason why. 

The idea that Shizuo had pitied him sneaked in his mind, but undermined his pride so much he immediately discarded it. How could someone pity him? He was handsome, well-mannered, rich. He had been told he was the smartest military strategist of their Era, his decisions were unquestionable. Sympathy implied someone looking down at his sorry state with emotional distance, believing themselves to be superior -- to him? __

Unacceptable.

Izaya was a rational person, but just thinking about such possibility made his blood boil in wrath. _No, it can't be_ , he convinced himself. _Shizu-chan_ _is a monster, after all.And monsters surely can't be moved by pity, because their rage is pure, absolute, unbeaten._

The corners of Izaya's mouth quirked in a razor-sharp smile.

_ He hates me more than everything. _

Izaya had convinced himself there must be a more plausible reason that had driven Shizuo to not only spare his life, but even save it. A voice raised from the depth of his mind, sneaking through his certainties to fill the voids between them like water, eroding, scraping, wrecking until it left something painfully similar to anger in his chest.

_ He doesn't hate you enough _ .

It was there, corroding his self-control, the fear that Shizuo could slip from his fingers and leave him alone in his obsession. 

_ He hates our enemy more than you now. They tore his brother away from him, leaving him utterly alone. Or, perhaps, Shizuo now hates himself more than you. Think about it. Then, accept it: you're the God of his vengeful thoughts no more. _

_ Ah, it's time that you accept that you’re not the most important person to anyone anymore, in hate  _ or _love. As you can see, you're alone now. Trapped in this room unable to walk, injured--_

_ \--Pitiful.  _

Pale fingers twitched. They wanted violence, they craved the monster's genuine hatred. 

Izaya hissed when he shifted his weight to straddle the sleeping man. But the sparks of pain from his injured knee and wrists were secondary compared to the need to regain his throne as ruler of Shizuo's thoughts. Even concerns for his own safety flew from his mind in pursuit of this one goal. His movements weren't catlike as before, but still, he tried to be as silent as possible when he replicated the exact position Shizuo had taken when he had tried to choke him. Izaya felt the inhuman body heat across his inner thighs, penetrating through his pajama pants, and blonde strands tickling the back of his hands. 

He eagerly watched the loathsome face that lay a few inches under his. 

Droplets of cold sweat trickled down his forehead while he waited for a reaction from his foe but, luckily, Shizuo was already in a deep sleep; hazel eyes still lay under silky eyelids and his lips were parted, breathing in and out, in a slow rhythm. Izaya lowered his face even more in order to fully savor the view of his archenemy, defenseless under him, as an insane smirk deformed his features.

Izaya stretched his left arm to bury it under his own pillow. A moment later, he pulled out a kitchen knife, the same one he had tried to use today to eat dinner. 

 

Izaya had awoken when the sun was already set, alone in a bed that smelled faintly of disinfectants. He immediately took notice of the bandages across his body, especially his legs. A sting of pain from his injured wrists greeted him as he sat on the bed. His limbs hurt, like there was still fire and gunpowder eating his flesh. He wondered if the fire hadn't managed to spoil his legs, if his skin was still smooth to the touch andtranslucent ivory in color. From the flame-bright pain boiling under the gauze, probably not. _But the burns will fade, like the wound on my knee..._

_...Right?  _

Somewhere between an hour and an Era, Shinra came to visit him. Despite the fact that the doctor seemed eager to talk with him, Izaya's mouth was so dry it made him utter nothing more than his own name. Shinra removed many bandages from his body, but the ones on his legs were still there, menacingly thick. Izaya would have never believed that one day he would feel so frightened by apparently innocuous spirals of gauze. He didn't ask Shinra how long it would take for him to be completely healed and he was thankful from the bottom of his heart that the doctor didn't tell him, either. The doctor just prepared him dinner, and Izaya asked for a knife with the excuse to cut the sandwich into smaller slices.

__

_ Thanks a lot, Shinra. _

Biting his lower lip to avoid a cry of pain as he put pressure on his wounded knee and sprained wrists, he brought the knife to the blonde's neck. Adrenaline increased his heartbeat, while he traced the blade along the tanned expanse of skin, piercing it only slightly. In the dim, the blood dripping out looked pitch black. 

_ It fit a monster perfectly _ . 

Hypnotized, the scarlet gaze followed the droplet of blood sliding down his enemy's neck. 

Outside the window, the wind blew with growing intensity, howling and shaking the foliage. Without warning, the summer storm began to rage. Resounding raindrops began to drum on the window's glass and on the wooden floor. Inside the dark room, though, Izaya was enraptured, and he perceived only Shizuo's breath and the lazy flowing of a single blood drop. His gaze followed the bead of red until it nestled on the blonde's collarbone, leaving behind a thin, black trail. 

Red eyes opened and gleamed as though possessed, as the grip on the knife became firmer, puncturing deeper the skin, until more dark drops gushed out, staining the pillow. He pushed more, in the desperate need to carve his own image into Shizuo once again, even deeper than before, so that the monster would never forget him. His gaze shifted from the wound and shifted back to check the other's face, looking for a reaction. He found none -- the deep cut was, for Shizuo, nothing more than a caress. 

Izaya's eyes narrowed to slits, while he tilted his head to one side out of curiosity. Now that he noticed it, on his enemy's face there was such an interesting expression. Through his binoculars, Izaya had managed to catch a glimpse of the whole range of expressions that could cross Shizuo's features, even if it was just a matter of milliseconds before Shizuo's inhuman perception sensed Izaya scorching his flesh with his scarlet gaze. But, from such proximity and without glass lenses as filters, Izaya was used to see Shizuo's features deformed only with rage. Now, the look on his nemesis' face was almost--

The thought blended in his mind. 

Corners of his mouth relaxed as the grip on the knife loosened. The blade slipped from his fingers, staining them with his monster's blood before it fell on the sheets. Of their own accord, his hand lifted. Fingertips, barely heavier than a breath of wind, drew red trails from Shizuo's cheekbone to his parted lips, marking him. 

Izaya’s mind was now a blank canvas. 

In the instant he reached the corner of Shizuo's mouth, a flash of light brightened the room. Immediately after resounded the thunderclap, so loud that the window frame slammed against the wall, glass creaking with impact. 

Izaya closed his eyes shut. Frightened by the sudden loud noise, his heart hammered in his ribcage, so fast he could perceive its beat drumming in his ears. It was the fast, pulsating sound of fear, as a rush of blood mingled with panic flowed in his head. Once it had slowed down, he opened his eyes. 

He found his own face mirrored in wide open, hazel eyes. 

A flinch, then a giggle, and finally a hysteric laugh escaped Izaya's mouth. He braced himself for the blow while he admired the way Shizuo's features changing from genuine shock to pure anger, as soon as he took notice of the bleeding wound on his neck. 

_ Here it comes... This! This is my monster!  _

_ He hates me, he hates me so much! More than he hates – or loves – anything else. _

When Shizuo roughly shoved him away, Izaya kept laughing like a mad man, tears numbing his eyes. His laugh died on his lips, however, when his head and back hit the cold wall. A sting of pain blurred his vision and he soon found that his lungs hurt too much to breathe. However, the former strategist didn't let the smirk fade from his face when he spotted the beastlifting the wooden wardrobe, ready to throw it at him. Because it was the proof he craved for, that nothing had changed between him and Shizuo.

He kept grinning. The confirmation that Shizuo still loathed him was right in front of his eyes. Shizuo didn't pitied him, not at all. Through the sharp pain numbing his view, Izaya narrowed his eyes and tried to focus the livid blonde: blood dripped from the cut on his neck to his bare chest, marked by a thin, long scar. 

_ His _ .

Shizuo was his, he always had been. 

"IIIIIZAAAAYAAAA!" 

Scarlet eyes opened impossibly wide. 

Shizuo's yell hit him with an impact even stronger than a wooden wardrobe could have. It was _so_ disappointing -- as it wasn't driven by anger anymore, but just by pure desperation. It let  Izaya know that he couldn't delude himself anymore: this shout wasn't his monster's usual one. 

Izaya's fingers trembled as a realization overwhelmed him: it wasn't only the voice that was different. It was Shizuo himself who wasn't the same anymore. Beautiful hazel eyes were reddened with dried tears, rimmed by dark circles. They weren't burning and overwhelmed by hate, as usual. Something more powerful that their mutual hatred made them shine, now. His monster was broken, weak, even if he could lift a whole wardrobe alone. Shizuo looked like a cornered beast, irremediably shattered by someone who wasn't Izaya himself. 

It was heartbreaking, and Izaya refused to accept it. 

He had never managed to break his monster to such extent. Somehow, their bond of hate had become thinner and thinner, until it vanished into the air. 

"Finish what you have started, monster!" he screeched, until he had emptied his lungs. He wondered if Shizuo had perceived the discrepancy between the desperation in his shout and the daring smirk still tensing his lips. All his plans for Shizuo seemed nothing more than ashes in his blood stained hands. He felt broken. The enemy hadn’t only come close to simply killing him, hadn’t just defeated him on his own strategic field, taken away his soldiers, his career, and reduced him a pitiful, scarred man not even able to walk by himself anymore. No, not only that; to add insult to injury, the enemy had taken away _Shizu-chan_. Red eyes widened, his own deductions clenched his heart.

_ Shizuo _ _ hates someone more than me. _

Shizuo gathered momentum. Izaya braced himself for the deadly blow, lifting his bandaged hands in an instinctive attempt to protect himself. The idea of his own imminent death left a sour taste in his mouth that was even bitter with the awareness of his own loneliness and utter failure. Because, despite his efforts to strengthen their bond of mutual hatred, the thread had been cut. Now, there was no way Shizuo would come back to him. Once hate gave way to indifference, Shizuo's obsession for him would disappear like it had never existed. Izaya tasted it, the tang of rejection. Once again. 

But still, his rational self refused to surrender.

_ There must still be a way. I've always found the way to make him hate me more and more--  _

At one step from becoming nothing, Izaya realized all wasn't lost. 

Even if his monster wasn't the same anymore, even if Shizuo hated someone more than him, there was still a possibility. If Shizuo succeeded in killing him, it wouldn't all be lost. Izaya's death wouldn't be vain, because would finally seal the word _monster_ to every cell composing  Shizuo's body. There would be no escape for him but accept his nature. 

Despite his violent habits, Shizuo had never killed anyone in his whole life. Killing Izaya would be his regret. 

Shizuo would hate his memory until his last breath, more than the enemy that killed his little brother, with even more force than love. Shizuo would remember Izaya's existence because it would be the first (and probably last) one the monster ended with his own hands. He would remember him, maybe even mourn him, until his arch-enemy would become his god. 

_ So be it. _

Izaya lowered the hands shielding him to his sides. 

"Do it. Do it, beast." 

Shizuo was already on verge of throwing the wardrobe at the other’s injured body. It seemed pretty heavy, Izaya thought, it was probably made with a high-quality hardwood. He had to make sure to provoke Shizuo so he would throw the wardrobe with his maximum strength. That way, hopefully he would die on impact; otherwise, it would be even more painful, adding additional injuries on top of the ones he already had. Surviving would only reduce him to a more pitiful state than the one he was in now. So, the strategist let his insane, scornful laugh resound in the room.

Shizuo roared and Izaya knew that in moments he would be dead.

He smirked.

_ You know, Shizu-chan... With this, every doubt regarding your humanity will be swept away from both of us. _

Heartbeat increased, hands closed in fists as he braced himself for bearing the immense pain of bones, flesh, life being squashed before his soul would drown into nothingness. But still, despite the fact that his death was for the best, there was a infinitesimal part of him which still couldn't accept this, that he hadn’t managed to find a way to distinguish himself in death from humans, to prove his superiority. 

In his wildest dreams, Izaya envisioned immortality.

He had even searched for it in his spare time, combing both dusty libraries for centuries old legends, and aseptic rooms for advanced medical research. He found fancy old stories without even an ounce of scientific basis and anti-wrinkle treatments which could only erase the flowing of time from his outer self. For his soul, his core, his rational thinking, however, he found nothing. Now, Izaya realized it was too late to follow such a dream. But still, red eyes were open, daring, locked with hazel ones for the last time. After all, he was denying the remote possibility of an eternal life for something he desired _almost_ equally. Even if it was far from the glory of immortality, it was still a glimmer of life after death, wasn't it? It would fade, along with  Shizuo, but it would devour the monster from the inside. Shizuo always said Izaya was a bloodsucking flea, a _parasite_. Perhaps he had been. Perhaps, he would become one that leeched off of  Shizuo’s very spirit. 

_ Even if my soul dies here, my memory will haunt you, Shizuo. I will destroy, mercilessly, the exoskeleton you have instead of skin, I will extinguish the sparks in your eyes and every hope for a different tomorrow. I will take nourishment from your desperation and fears, leaving you spoiled, nothing more than the shadow of the man you were -- pitiful as I am.  _

_ Ah. _

_ Everything ends here. _

\--Or not?

Suddenly, the door opened and a panting Shinra made his appearance. 

*

The doctor had just exited his own house when he had heard loud voices coming from the bedroom of his father's house, where now lived the two men he had saved in the wild lands. Furthermore, the window was open, even with the storm raging. He needed to close it, otherwise his patients might catch a cold. So he decided to check in on them. He had to ask Shizuo if he was feeling all right, too, since his patient had been wandering outside for the whole day. Once he had arrived on the threshold, his eyes widened in surprise. Words died in the back of his throat, while he tried to process, as fast as possible, what was happening inside the room. _What the hell, are they trying to kill each others?_ the doctor wondered. But instinct took over, and Shinra lifted his hand to stop the blonde from throwing the wardrobe. 

"Wait..." 

His voice came out weak, barely audible. However, Izaya must have heard it since he immediately looked at the doctor. Shizuo, on the other hand, was so lost in his rage he hadn't even noticed that the door at his back had opened. 

Without dwelling on the consequences, Shinra approached Shizuo. 

"Shizuo-kun, wait--" 

The blonde turned suddenly, and so did the wardrobe he was on verge of throwing. A loud thump echoed in his ears when wood met flesh. When Shizuo understood, it was already too late. Shinra sunk to his knees, in pain, holding his head in both his hands. 

Shizuo felt his heart drop. 

He put down the wardrobe, and knelt down near the doctor, to check how seriously he had injured him. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." he kept whispering. While he drowned in shame and anger, Shizuo berated himself, wondering how he could had been so _fucking stupid,_ to let his hatred for  Izaya harm an innocent man, one who had been so kind to him. 

Meanwhile, at Shizuo's back, the raven-haired man’s lips were still curled in the trademark smirk that only grew across his face at the sight of his monster drowning in self-hatred of Izaya’s creation.

*

Shinra managed to walk away with just a superficial cut and a bump. 

Helped by Shizuo, the doctor went downstairs in the kitchen, where he let the blonde disinfect and apply an instant ice pack to the swelling on his head. Not a single word escaped either the soldier or the doctor's mouths as an odd silence reigned between them, interrupted only by the swish of wind and the pouring rain outside.

While he carefully taped a swab of cotton soaked in disinfectant over the cut, Shizuo realized he could no longer keep the truth hidden. Shinra deserved to know that Shizuo couldn't be categorized as human, with this damned unrestrained strength of his; he needed to be told that he had welcomed into his house someone who had always been defined a monster, capable only of bringing destruction. 

From the irregular rhythm and frequent pauses of the cotton ball pressing to his head, the doctor perceived the other man was deep in thought.

"It's okay, you didn't mean to hurt me," the doctor uttered with a calm voice. Then he lifted his gaze to look at Shizuo, trying to read what was hidden in hazel irises. "Your neck is bleeding, can I treat your wound once you've finished with mine?" 

Shizuo shook his head, slowly. 

"Don't worry, I'll think about it later. But… I need to explain something about me." 

Shinra smiled, and for a second Shizuo swore that the doctor’s grey eyes glistened with anticipation, but in a flash the emotion was gone. 

"I know. Don't worry, just do it when you're ready."

"Tomorrow." 

While Shizuo was applying the instant cold pack to the swelling, Shinra suddenly smacked his own forehead and shouted:

"Izaya-kun!" 

Shizuo was baffled. 

"What -- you know his name?!"

"Yeah, he told me today when he woke up. But Izaya-kun is injured! I saw he was on the ground, he might have fallen and hit his head. I have to go upstairs, now!" 

But as soon as he stood up, Shinra heard Shizuo talking, his voice deep and firm. 

"Leave it to me."

"Huh?"

"I mean, you've already done enough for us and you're injured -- you're still bleeding. Let me do it."

"Are you sure?” 

Shizuo nodded. 

"Okay… I'll go back home to check if I need stitches –- the equipment I need is at home -- and I'll come back as soon as possible. Keep an eye on Izaya though, if he looks or feels strange it could be internal bleeding. Don't make him fall asleep until I'll be back."

Shinra headed towards the front door. Here, Shizuo saw him picking up a flashlight and an umbrella with the hand that wasn't holding the instant ice pack on his forehead. _Why does he need a flashlight? Doesn't he live in the house next door?_ Shizuo wondered. But he didn't want to sound rude, so he kept curiosity at bay, and his own mouth shut.

Before Shinra closed the behind him, the bespectacled man turned his head toward the former soldier.

"Please, take care of Izaya!"

"...I will. Sorry again."

"No worries! But please, don't try to kill each other ever again! See you later!"

After the door closed, Shizuo didn't turn to go upstairs, not yet. He stood still, his gaze blank.

He asked himself if it was possible to sink even more in despair than he already had. The flea woke and instantly his worst fears had come true. What he was supposed to do now? His fingers were already closed into fists, tugging at his dyed strands, when a possible solution flashed in his mind like a lightning. 

He took the first aid kit from the kitchen table, and went back to their room. 

Izaya was still there, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, right where Shizuo hadleft him. He still found it hard to believe that tiny frame was the same man he hadn't been able to catch even once over so many years. On the pale, thin face, still lingered thesmirk of superiority he loathed from the instant he had seen it. In this moment, however, Shizuo realized that instead of being annoying, it reminded him of a grotesque theatrical mask, a caricature of what Izaya's mocking face looked like before that night.

"Hahaha, so fun, so fun! Shizu-chan is going to take care of me instead of _trying_ to kill me?" 

 

Their bedroom's window was just over the main door, and Izaya had found it easy to eavesdrop on every word Shinra and the monster had exchanged on the threshold, even with the storm raging. He wondered if hitting the doctor because of Izaya’s taunting had succeeded in provoking the anger he wanted to see from Shizuo. The monster who chased him with fierce passion would have lost it for sure.

Red eyes followed the half-naked blonde crossing the room with heavy steps. The medical kit fell on the ground with a loud thump, missing Izaya for so much it didn't leave space to the possibility the monster had undershot the target. Shizuo knelt right in front of him, brows knitted, the corners of his mouth lowered.

_ Perhaps, he just need a little extra provocation. _

"By the way, you're such a beast, Shizu-chan! Poor Shinra, you don't spare even the one who saved your life--"

"Shut up, louse. Be quiet and let me see." 

Before Izaya could reply with a sarcastic statement, he felt Shizuo's fingers probing their way through black locks. They weren't gentle, at all, moving in rough jerks. But still, it didn't hurt overly much, so Izaya gathered that Shizuo was trying his best to keep his strength under control. _Why are you holding back? You know there's no need to do it. Not with me._

_ Why you don't want to kill me, Shizu-chan? _

When fingertips brushed the small bump on the back of his head, Izaya couldn't help but hiss. But he couldn't say for certain that it was from pain or from a final blow shattering his pride to tiny smithereens. Shizuo considered him such a pitiful opponent he didn't even use his whole strength anymore. 

Without apologizing, Shizuo pulled away the strands that surrounded the swelling, leaning closer to check if there was a cut on the skin. 

Izaya shut his eyes and bit his lower lip. Even if Shizuo's touch was too heavy and rough on the bump, he wouldn't let a single sound of pain escape his mouth, god forbid! His features relaxed when the blonde finally distanced himself to search for a cold pack. However, once the raven's eyes opened again, his body stiffened.

_ So close. _

_ He is so close. I can  _ smell _him._

Izaya remembered the way he had he had basked in that smell for an indefinite amount of time, during which he had lost and regained consciousness over and over again. 

He couldn't restrain himself from gazing at the monster's tanned chest and stomach, both strengthened and toned by years in the army. With every movement, his muscles rippled under the skin, and Izaya hated himself for how much he wanted to touch him, and to be touched in return.

"Oi! Still alive, flea?" 

Izaya lifted his head, realizing that Shizuo was now keeping the cold pack still with one hand and was looking down at him. He was so lost in thought that he had barely noticed the cold sensation on the back of his head. Shizuo's cheek was still dirty with the trails of blood Izaya's fingers had drawn, and more crimson liquid dripped from the cut on his neck. It seemed the monster didn't care at all what Izaya had just done to him. Scarlet eyes widened in surprise once the raven finally grasped the meaning of the words the blonde had said. They annihilated every doubt, every _hope_ \-- the  Shizuo he knew, the monster who reciprocated his obsession, had died, swallowed by the blaze.

_ He will never come back.  _

"If you feel strange let me know, since you hit the head. If you feel like puking, or you're drowsy, don't behave like the annoying flea you are, and tell me. I just have to hold the ice pack still for a bit more, so you'll be fine soon," Shizuo muttered under his breath. "Aaaah, whatever!" he uttered in the end, turning his head in annoyance because not only did Izaya not respond, but to add insult to injury, also kept staring at him with shocked red eyes.

"When we finish here, you're going to sleep, louse! And also, don't you fucking dare go pissing me off again with your dirty tricks!" 

His voice was a deep, resolute rumble, the concept accentuated by the finger he jabbed into Izaya's face. In reply, the latter's features gradually hardened into a spiteful smirk. 

"Or what, Shizu-chan?" Izaya chirped, without bothering to hide the amusement in his voice. He took his time to savor how anger made hazel eyes gleam in a killer glare. It was fearful of course, but _immensely_ exciting -- no... It was _nostalgic_. However, even if rage was showing through the beast's body language, it didn't flow into action;  Shizuo kept the ice pack on the bump.

"Izaya. I want that you listen carefully what I have to say." 

As he talked, the blonde grabbed the smaller man's left shoulder with his free hand, and lowered his head so they were face to face. He locked his eyes with scarlet ones that narrowed to slits with curiosity. Izaya opened his mouth to reply with stinging sarcasm, but Shizuo interrupted him.

"Izaya, you know I hate you. I hate you so fucking much you can't even imagine. Every inch of me wants to beat the shit out of you. But I can't do it now. I can't do it _here_." 

Shizuo lifted his hand from Izaya's shoulders, and began to violently run it through his hair. Hazel eyes were clenched, as he tried to force out the words he had in mind. However, those syllables seemed unable to leave his lips. In the end, the blonde shouted: 

"Damn it! What I'm asking for is a truce!"

Silence. 

Just the sound of pouring rain, and the swish of leaves in the wind. 

"I agree only if you promise me just a single thing." 

Shizuo opened his eyes, and in front of him there was a man he couldn't recognize. There wasn't even the hint of a smirk on that pale face: Izaya was dead serious. He tried to ask for explanation, but only incomprehensible fragments of words managed to leave his mouth. 

Still, Izaya understood what Shizuo was trying to ask him: _Why are you accepting a truce so easily? Why aren't you mocking me? Why are you so serious?_

_ What should I promise you, Izaya?  _

"Would you promise me you'll kill me once we leave this place?"

Shizuo's eyebrows darted high, and he wasn't aware he was holding his breath until his lungs started to hurt. He was so baffled it took him some moments to recover from the shock. Izaya waited for an answer with an unperturbed expression on his face. 

Meanwhile, the summer storm had passed, leaving only thin drops on the window as a memento to its existence. In silence, they trailed down the transparent surface, merging one with another, accelerating and slowing down as though they had been given life. In the utter silence, Shizuo could almost hear them sliding on the glass, the same way he could almost hear the flutter of Izaya's eyelashes.

In the end, Shizuo nodded. He would have shaken hands with Izaya, but his right hand was busy holding the ice. Instinctively, Shizuo's left hand searched for Izaya's right one that laid on the ground. 

Izaya breathed a sigh of surprise when Shizuo's fingertips brushed his palm, because the touch was warm, dry, electric. When Shizuo squeezed his pale fingers in his own, Izaya didn't reciprocate. He just looked down at their awkward twining of fingers.

With a last squeeze, Shizuo let him go.

It wasn't quite a handshake, but still, their pact was sealed. 


	6. Trapped under ice

 

The words were still vivid in his head, echoes of a voice too serious and low pitched to be Izaya's. 

_ "Would you promise you'll kill me once we leave this place?" _

Izaya's breath was a soft hush, fanning across the skin of his chest, reminding him that the flea was _here_ and those words had been real. At first the puffs of air tickled, only to escalate, until they felt too frozen to bear, as though they were a blast of cold wind instead. Shizuo wondered if someone had altered the memories of their escape to make him remember Izaya being reassuringly warm against his own skin, because the fingers he had just released were as frozen as his breath, almost as icy as the cold pack Shizuo still held on the flea's head.

Shizuo shivered.

But more than the cold, what made his nerves vibrate was the absence of sound, since such calmness had always been the precursor to one of their chases. After so many years, it was a routine Shizuo was used to -- a moment where their gazes met, across the distance, the tilt of Izaya's head and the quirk of a smile, before a switchblade would fly toward him as fast as a bullet. 

His heartbeat increased, hammering in his chest until his breath was shallow. 

Shizuo wasn't surprised. It was a spontaneous, _too familiar_ response his body had toward  Izaya. After all, this was the exact way he had always reacted to him, the instant he detected Izaya's scent, or spotted his elegant frame hopping through the hallways of the Military Academy. Immediately, the monster dozing in relaxed bundles of muscles awoke, scorching his blood until in his veins flowed liquid fire, and he tasted a lion-like growl boiling in the back of his own throat. 

Despite his rational self trying to impose the notion that he could relax, since they were in a truce now, his body still kept responding to the flea's presence. 

It couldn't be helped. Every time he perceived even a hint of Izaya, it was as somebody had just flipped on a switch. 

Along with adrenaline, there was still a hint of rage lacing his chest, even if it wasn't pure anymore. It was now mingled with a bitter sensation that tasted _just a bit_ like nostalgia: the realization there was something different in the man whose breath now felt icy-cold, with a curtain of black bangs covering his usual mocking gaze like blinds over a window. For once,  Shizuo couldn't understand what expression there was on the other’s face solely from the thin line of Izaya's lips and the placid rhythm of breath. 

It was _unsettling_. 

The muscles of his forearms twitched. He wanted a smoke.

"Oi, louse. Do you wanna get back into bed?" Words came out muffled by the creaking of the ice pack as his arm jerked.

When Izaya tilted his head up, the frost oozing from his breath, skin, and eyes seeped through Shizuo’s skin and reached his blood, freezing it. Izaya didn't reply, only looked at him, his gaze penetrating flesh to such an extent that every cell in Shizuo's body screamed _danger._

It wasn't a matter of silence anymore. Because it was awkward, of course, but still comfortable, since he had already experienced it so many times before. It was a calmness he was accustomed to, something which allowed him to predict what would have happened between him and the flea. But now, he had no idea what Izaya's next move might be. It was totally new, the way Izaya pierced his skin with a gaze far too serious, too deep, almost _angry_. Despite the fact that the eye color was the same, and the shape as well, there was something in them which made  Shizuo wonder, _who's this man?_

There was a different reflection in them, harder, laser-sharp. 

Izaya's eyes looked like sheets of ice formed from blood, hiding in their deceptive quietness the frames of something all too dangerous -- Izaya's thoughts. Their nature was obscure to Shizuo's mind, but their shadows were outlined under the ice, halos of the dark blazes burning in the depth of Izaya's soul. 

Before he could ask again if Izaya wanted to get up from the floor, Shizuo heard the squeaking of the small garden gate and a frantic drum of leather soles on the stone pathway. Shizuo knew they were approaching, but it was like they belonged to a different wavelength from the one of his own perception. He kept admiring the menacing calmness of Izaya's thoughts and jolted when, finally, Shinra spoke. 

"Here I am," Shinra said, at loss of air, before kneeling down beside Izaya. "How are you, Izaya-kun? Could you explain me how do you feel?"

Shizuo witnessed how the flea's features stretched into a syrupy-sweet smile, the same one Izaya donned with everyone beside him. Shinra's words didn’t manage to pass from Shizuo's ears to his brain as he limited himself to watch Izaya building a mask, smile after smile, while he replied to Shinra's questions. If it hadn't been for those shadows, still lingering in his blood-red eyes, Shizuo would swear Izaya hadn't changed at all, that he was the same man he had chased for years.

But, somehow, he was not. 

Casting a last glance to his sworn enemy, he lifted, picked up the first aid kit and headed toward the bathroom. Here, he turned on the lights and approached the mirror to examine the wound on his neck. Since it didn't hurt, he would rather go to sleep immediately, but he didn't want to leave stains on Shinra's sheets, so he decided to disinfect and cover the cut.

The mirror gave back an image that left him utterly confused. It wasn't for the blood dripping from the cut on his neck -- _how can that fricking flea always manage to pull knives out of thin air?_ \-- but for the presence of red trails on his cheek. As he brushed them with his hand,  Shizuo realized they had been left by fingertips, as though painted on his face.

_ Izaya. _

_...Why? _

Brows knitted in an effort to understand Izaya's logic, but the more he thought about it, the more he grew annoyed; there had never been a way for him to figure out the convoluted maze that was the flea’s mind. _Aaaaah_ _, who gives a shit!_ Shizuo ended up thinking while he tossed the dirty cotton balls in the bin.

When he exited from the bathroom, he found out that Shinra had already helped Izaya to bed and was sitting beside him. 

"He's fine. I'll still come to check him tomorrow,” the doctor whispered as he stood up and headed toward the door. Shizuo just nodded, giving half a bow to thank him.

When Shizuo slid under the sheets, Izaya was curled up to his right, his back toward him and appearing asleep. Shizuo wondered if the flea was pretending, since he would swear that Izaya had just shifted, as if to distance himself even more. 

Izaya had never been so physically close to him, and yet, he had never been so hard to catch. If they were on one of their chases, Izaya would have been barely a speck in the distance. Right now, he really seemed unreachable.

*

The next day, Shizuo woke up after the sun had risen. From behind the curtain seeped the blinding light of a clear summer day. He curled up and hid his head under the sheets, like he used to do when he was a child. He couldn't stand living another day with the awareness of his failure. If only he could go back to the darkness of his dreams--

"It's about time you woke up, Shizu-chan!" 

_ SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP! _ Shizuo mentally screamed, curling up even further until only few strands of blond hair poked out from under the sheets. It seemed as though Izaya had shifted back to his old, obnoxious self, as he clicked his tongue before whispering:

"Shizu-chan is such a lazy ass, ne?" 

Shizuo had to use every ounce of self control he had to not kill Izaya right on the spot, to at least make that chirping voice cease and stop grating on his ears.

"Well, whatev\--"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" 

In full swing, Shizuo kicked away the sheets and stomped toward the bathroom, where he shut the door with such a loud thump the wood creaked. It happened so suddenly that, in all likelihood, Izaya only had the time to catch a glimpse of messy blond hair and reddened face before Shizuo disappeared from his sight. 

Shizuo returned in the room a quarter of hour later, freshly showered, but still burning with anger. He tried to ignore the scarlet irises following every single movement he made; his heavy steps thumped against the floor until he reached the wardrobe, which he opened with such force the doors bounced back and almost hit him. Luckily for Izaya's already injured body, Shizuo was too busy spitting out expletives to hear his giggles. When, in that mess of crumpled clothes, Shizuo found some which fit him, he stomped back in the bathroom without uttering a single word. 

Persisting in ignoring Izaya, Shizuo came out dressed and stomped downstairs. In the kitchen, he searched for the necessary to prepare breakfast. He found a ceramic bowl, cereals and, _luckily_ , milk. It was _exactly_ what he needed now. The corners of his mouth were lowered as he absentmindedly observed the crown of blue flames dancing under the pot as he warmed the milk. 

Once he had filled one bowl with warm milk and cereal, he sat at the kitchen table, blissfully alone.

He lifted the spoon--

"Tsk." 

The chair squeaked on the floor as he stood up.

 

There was a smirk stretching Izaya's lips when Shizuo crossed the threshold carrying two bowls. He forced himself to ignore the louse as he approached him, just close enough to hand over the food. Izaya leaned in and, once he had verified the contents, one thin eyebrow lifted.

"Cereal and... _milk_ , Shizu-chan? Hahaha! Do you still drink milk?" 

Shizuo's grip tightened so much the ceramic began to crack under his fingers. 

"Eat." 

His tone of voice didn't leave room for complaints. Izaya pouted, but still took the bowl as best as he could and put it on his lap.

"Just for information, I like black coffee better. And pancakes."

Shizuo didn't bother to answer. He was already calling on all the patience he possessed to not throw the breakfast straight in Izaya's face. The lousy flea inspected the contents of the bowl with a disgusted expression, before he lifted it with both hands. However, it hadn't quite managed to reach his lips before he dropped both spoon and bowl. They fell, spraying half of the content all over the sheets and the bandages. 

It took Izaya a moment to disentangle the tension making his jaw clench and eyes screw shut. Once he had come back to his usual, controlled self, he tilted his chin up proudly and muttered, as if it had all been intentional,"In the end, I think I'm not going to eat it. This slop disgusts me."

In silence, Shizuo put his own food on the nightstand and grabbed spoon and bowl from Izaya's lap. He took a spoonful of milk and pointed it at the flea's mouth. 

"Eat your breakfast, Izaya. I don't buy your bullshit, I can see a mile off your wrists hurt too much to lift the bowl by yourself." 

"And guess who is to blame?" Izaya chirped, rolling his eyes in a theatrical way. "You're the worst, Shizu-cha--" 

In a textbook example of _seize the day_ , Shizuo took advantage of Izaya's open mouth to push the spoon over his lips. Red eyes widened comically as Izaya forced himself to swallow. Brows furrowed as he shouted, "What the hell, _you monster_ , you put SUGAR in milk?!" 

"Of course I do," Shizuo shrugged. Even though Izaya hadn't dropped his disgusted expression yet, Shizuo still took another spoonful of milk. "Hurry the fuck up, shitty flea. I don't have the whole day!" 

"Hmm, so it would seem. Who knows where Shizu-chan has to go..." 

Shizuo didn't answer, he just focused on making the spoon pass beyond the flea's lips without spilling more milk on the sheets. Izaya turned up his nose after every spoonful, but he still kept opening his mouth, probably as hungry as Shizuo was.

Soon, silence was upon them. Awkward, yes, but still comfortable since Izaya was finally quiet. His familiar singsong chirp had replaced the low-pitched tone of voice and the hard look, _apparently_ without fanfare, as though that mysterious side of  Izaya had just vanished silently like the shadows of the night with the rising sun. This Izaya Shizuo knew how to deal with.

When the milk was gone, Shizuo took his own bowl between his hands and drank all the contents in two gulps. 

Immediately after, he grabbed the bowls and stomped out of the room, trying to not care about the gaze scrutinizing every move he made. He took the time to wash the dishes and then he was outside, heading towards the pub where Tom was waiting to teach him bartending. Hands in his pockets and lost in thought, Shizuo walked down the slope. 

While, step after step, he delved deeper in that labyrinth of narrow lanes, Shizuo pondered. He didn't know if he could trust Izaya's words or not. Izaya was a manipulative person, and a liar, surely he had one of his plans in mind. But at the same time, Shizuo was sadly aware he didn't have much of a choice but to put up with the flea.

"Hey you!" 

Having been walking on autopilot, he visibly jolted when a feminine voice broke through his train of thought.

As he lifted his head to see if the voice was referring to him, Shizuo realized he was in the small square with the tree in the flowerbed, where he had sat the day before. The heavenly scent of baked goods still permeated the air. 

He turned his head, a questioning look on his face. "Me?" 

"Yes, you!" 

A thin, bespectacled woman approached him, one arm raised to stop him from going away; in the other, she held a broom. Under a white apron, she wore a yellow shirt and a salmon pink skirt. Wavy, black hair brushed her shoulders and framed her kind but worried face, creased every so slightly, which caused Shizuo to estimate that she was in her mid-thirties. 

"Are you alright? Your neck is bleeding!"

At first, Shizuo stood motionless as though petrified, not comprehending her meaning, then a vivid blush of embarrassment spread from his cheeks to his ears, until the meaning of the words reached him and he smacked his forehead with a loud clap.

_ Oh god, I was so angry with the flea I forgot to put a new bandage on it after I showered! _

"Ah, it's ok. I just forgot to cover it," Shizuo mumbled after a pause. The blood had probably stained Shinra's shirt by now. _Fuck._

"Would you let me bandage it? It won’t take long, my shop is right there." 

She turned, pointing the window of a bakery shop that Shizuo quickly identified as the source of the smell which was even now making him drool. Above the glossy window stood a big sign whose letters had been written in red with an old-styled but elegant calligraphy: "Sato Bakery.” 

"Please, come!" She motioned for Shizuo to follow her, the warm smile reaching her eyes. In the end, it had been instinct which made his feet move toward the shop; in his gut, he already knew that her smile was far different from Izaya's. __

The door's bell tinkled when the woman crossed the threshold, followed by the blonde, whose jaw dropped in astonishment as his eyes spotted the most complete display of his favorite foods that he had ever seen in his life. _Bread, cakes, croissants, muffins...dairy products!_ However, the view was as beautiful for his eyes as it was painful;he hadn't money to spare on frivolities like sweets. 

"Come this way." With an agile movement, she passed the counter and opened a door, which led to a narrow hallway studded with cardboard boxes. As she opened the door, the amulet hung on a nail in the center swung slightly. It was covered in scarlet brocade silk, with a pattern of white flowers adorning each side, similar to one Shizuo had placed in his uniform's pocket few days before. Kasuka had given it to him, as a _protective charm_ , since their army would have marched flanking the lands still considered haunted, even in this day and age. Even the most skeptical of his brothers in arms had kept one in their pockets, squeezing it for dear life as soon as they passed around the rope hung with talismans that marked the edges of the wild lands, where they were to make their, in the end final, camp.

Shizuo was aware he had crossed their territories during his wandering, but he hadn't witnessed at the supernatural beings from which the charm must protect him.

_ After all, why bothering about spirits when human beings are way more dangerous? _ he thought, as he followed her in silence, glancing at her delicate frame through his dyed bangs.

Of course, the bespectacled woman would have a protective charm too, as close as their village was to the lands' boundary. Surely every single villager had it, inside their houses or in their pockets, though he had yet to find where Shinra's father might have put his.

At the end of the hallway, there was a small closet. Here, the woman searched in a cabinet for the necessary supplies to treat his bleeding wound. "Ah! Found you!" she exclaimed, pulling out from under the sink disinfectant, gauze, and surgical tape, along with a bag of cotton balls. After pouring the disinfectant on the cotton, she stood on tiptoe to have a clearer view of the wound. 

"It will burn a bit." 

Shizuo’s face immediately clouded. _Of course it won't_ , since he couldn't feel it like a normal human being. Just then, the potential danger of the whole situation became clear to his own eyes. He had never been in such a confined space with a woman in his whole life, and he had never been in such proximity to one, with the exception of his grandmother. But he was a child back then, provided with just an ounce of the strength he had now as a grown-up man. Fists clenched as images of the violence he could release with just a spark of anger flashed through his mind. He visualized her, injured because of him, laying senseless on the ground and covered by the blanket of debris caused by the passage of a monster. 

The images he saw in his mind were so vivid they could have happened for real.

_ She is so small, she's fragile, and she doesn't even know I am a monster.  _

He felt himself panicking. His features stiffened, drops of cool sweat trickling down his forehead before his heartbeat became frantic, so fast and deafening he swore there was no way she couldn't hear it. The woman's eyes, however, were too focused on the cut to notice the sudden change of expression on his face. Slowly, Shizuo lowered his head to look down at her. 

_ I don't want to hurt you.  _

He jolted when, out of the blue, she lifted her head and looked back at him. Just for an instant, her eyes widened, before the gentle smile reappeared on her lips. 

"Don't worry, it's almost done. Just lift your head a bit more so I can do a proper bandage--" Tiny, warm fingertips brushed his jawbone and, in response, he immediately lifted his head, cheeks flushed. "Yes, like that," she mumbled, applying the gauze and the surgical tape. 

Shizuo tried to force himself to relax, but he couldn't. Despite being asleep, the monster was _there_. If the gentle woman could see the things he was capable of, would she still treat him so compassionately? He feared the answer, because, deep in his heart, his conscience assured him that he didn't deserve her kindness, however much he desired it.

"There we are!" The bespectacled woman checked her handiwork and distanced herself to put the first aid kit back in the cabinet. 

_ Would she still smile at me and not flinch in horror?  _

When she turned back, she must have caught something on his face, because her relaxed expression faded. Shizuo felt his heart clenching, because his mind had just visualized how her features should look, driven by repulsion and not by kindness.

"Does it still hurt? You look pale..." Shizuo was so surprised he didn't, couldn’t, manage to reply. "Ah, of course!"

He didn't manage to utter a single word as she guided him back on the shop, the palm of her hand a warm pressure across his back.

"Wait a moment."

So he did, with widened eyes and lips parted in surprise and curiosity, watching as she grabbed a chocolate muffin wrapped in brown paper and handed it to him. 

"You've lost blood, you need to eat to regain strength! Here, take it."

Before Shizuo could process it, in his other hand there was a glass bottle the top of which had been covered with a frilly lilac cloth, full of milk.As he felt the cold glass pressed against his palm, an irrational part of him wondered if there could be a single grain of hope that she would just _accept_ him \-- for who he was, despite his being dangerous because he was so utterly _weak_ in control his own strength.

Immediately, his cowardly self confirmed he was only blinded by his own delusions. Next time, indeed, he should choose another way to reach Tom's pub that avoided the square with the tree in the flowerbed. There should be a path lacking the scents of sweets and some stranger's kindness, right? And even if he would meet her again, he would lower his head and just keep walking, pretending he had never seen her before. 

He should just _forget_ , and surrender to the irreversibility of his own weaknesses, shutting the world out because, after all, self-imposed loneliness had always been the wiser decision.

He knew he really should just keep his head lowered and walk away--

Shizuo blamed his being hopelessly delusional when his gaze lifted instead. 

Even if he was in a blind alley, even if he would soon pay the price for Kasuka's death, even if he had always brought just destruction, even if he had always been an outcast, his gaze slide up from the red floor tiles to the glass of her spectacles, and when she chuckled softly at his shocked expression, he didn't reciprocate. There wasn't even the hint of a smile on his face. He was way too scared of the decision he had just taken.

He'd come back.

Surely not now, and not even tomorrow, but perhaps there would be a day he'd become strong enough to thank her for her kindness with a sincere smile. 

*

Once Shizuo had dashed out of their temporary home, the room had fallen into an utter silence. Izaya closed his eyes and let his body fall back on the bed, exhaling a sigh of pure boredom. Tormenting Shizuo was the only thing he could do to pass the time, since he wasn't able to leave the bed. Now that the beast had gone who knows where, Izaya had nothing interesting left to observe. 

Izaya noticed the grip of the knife, then, peeking out from under Shizuo's pillow, stained with the same blood that still lingered on his fingers.

_ I'm curious of what he thought. _

Izaya evaluated the possibility of taking a nap, since he had barely slept the night before -- at first, because he had listened to his brain combing through memories of their escape to develop conjectures on them over and over for the whole night, until his thoughts sounded rusty and cacophonous; then because he had _definitely_ heard Shizuo's breathing -- too loud, too slow, too near. It didn't matter how hard he had tried, Izaya couldn't synchronize his own with it. 

It didn't let him relax. 

The placid rhythm of Shizuo's breath kept his mind on alert and all his muscles taut, ready to run until, at some point during the night, Izaya had found it so unnerving that he was the only one still awake that he fell asleep lulled by graphic fantasies of vengeance. 

Izaya wondered if he would ever succeed to force his body to relax in Shizuo's presence.

 

A spark of excitement made him push himself up to a sitting position when Shinra came to ask how he was feeling and aid in the washing and changing of his bandages. At least he had someone to observe, now. 

While they casually talked, Izaya hid under the polite facade of small talk to scrutinize Shinra from head to toe, as he was used to do with his beloved humans. Based on his considerable experience, Izaya came to the conclusion the bespectacled doctor was an interesting human. Shinra was cultured, sharp, and he was an enjoyable interlocutor, even if sometimes he turned out to be a rather long-winded person. However, under the verbose and reassuring mask, the doctor's core was impregnated with something else, darker and way more intriguing. Red eyes couldn't help from narrowing and shining in anticipation. 

Before he took his leave to visit other patients, the doctor provided Izaya with a chair and helped him shift so he was seated near the window. "So you can enjoy the view of the sea and our beautiful village, Izaya-kun!" And, even better, he could keep himself busy with his favorite hobby: human observation. 

As Izaya looked outside, his attentive gaze recognized the place. He had never been here before but he remembered he had seen it in the maps and reports he had consulted in order to plan attacks, and marked it as a location too small and backwater to be useful for their city-state. It was a coastal village, of medieval stamp, connected with the outside world only by boat and an asphalt road. 

Izaya was aware geography has a decisive impact on a battle tide so, as a strategist, he was really fond in the subject. He knew the extensive island where they lived like the back of his hand, and he was able to make a rather precise appraisal of how many miles the village was from the place where their camp had lain – it was a lot; the beast had run far. But, even more than the number of miles, or the fact he remembered Shizuo bleeding profusely, what left Izaya astonished was the kind of lands the monster had walked through to come up to this place. 

_ Shizu-chan _ _ , you idiot, people avoid those places even if their life depends on it. _

__

Since Izaya had been a child, he had always been told by his private teacher that in the island where he lived, there were lands forgotten by the gods, where life and death merged and, together, engulfed every attempt at civilization. The ones who tried had failed miserably, and some even swore that curses had been passed down to their descendants. Such stories were rooted to such depth in their cultural heritage no one ever dared to test them, even in their technologically advanced era. Izaya always found it amusing to witness the way fear of the unknown wiped away rationality, even from the most levelheaded human beings. In this they were a perfect copy of their ancestors, who avoided writing or referring directly to the wild lands during conversations out of superstition, until the lands' name had been lost in the current of time.

There were still some who tried to delve into the wild territories, and despite having more talismans hung on their body than bullets in their guns, nobody came back to tell what they had seen or found. They had been swallowed, one by one, as though the wooded hills had been freak waves instead. It had been unavoidable, then, that rumors started to circulate, assuming there were guardians shielding those lands from human invaders, killing explorers, exorcists, or some poor curious soul who couldn't wait to find out what the lands hid, but above all, _why_ they stopped humans from finding it. 

Despite what outsiders might imagine, the development in sciences proved to be useless, since once over the boundary, _something_ produced interference in any radar and technological devices and impeded the user from discovering the truth. To eyes blinded by fear, it really looked as though there were supernatural presences protecting the sacredness of uncontaminated nature, whispering _"humans aren't admitted"_. 

In a book with pages eroded and yellowed by the flowing of centuries, Izaya had learnt there were legends about headless women called _Dullahan_. They wandered through the uninhabited lands on wagons towed by familiars who took the aspect of black horses, and killed the human beings who dared to cross their paths, uttering their names with the severed heads. Some theories asserted that the birth of such supernatural beings melted into the dawn of times as guardians of the wild lands, others swore they rose with the wars lacerating their island for generations. Other theories again, linked them to the Valkyries of Nordic Mythology, and assured that beings called by them would be guaranteed access to something else than nothingness after death: _Valhalla_. 

Honestly, a rational man like Izaya didn't believe in rumors without any scientific foundation. But, even if they were with every probability just hot air, he had always felt an instinctive curiosity toward the old legends. After all, he couldn’t deny that they were based on a mysterious phenomenon that made people disappear and annihilated every attempt to discover its nature through technology. 

The supernatural, the afterlife -- immortality.

Even if they were probably just fantasies rooted in the illiteracy of the Dark Ages, there was still a remote possibility they were right, wasn't it?

_ Even if they're complete bullshit, let's admit they are rooted in the truth. _

_ Let's admit there's a way to have the certainty that our existences aren't wasted after death. _

_ If only we-- _

_ No.  _

_ If only  _ I _could gain a ticket for the afterlife..._

While Izaya studied his precious humans walking through the narrow lanes, his train of thought carried him to fantasies about the places they had passed through while he was unconscious. He craved to know, since he had always desired to master the secrets of those lands. But he had never ventured into them any deeper than few miles, exactly where their military camp rested just few days before. And even then, his scope had been only to make the army he commanded disappear from enemy's radar, just to approach, and then conquer their city, through the impossibility of being tracked. Izaya had never delved into their depths, because his own life was too precious for testing some old legend. He swore there must be another method to gain immortality, a safer and more sure one. 

Before he looked at death straight in the eye, he believed he had still whole decades in front of him to find a solution. 

The sudden forced acknowledgement of the transience intrinsic to his own nature had terrorized him, because he couldn't deny the evidence any more -- his superior mind and soul had been trapped into a mortal shell. It unsettled him, the realization of how _frail_ his body was. It lacked the strength his mind had, it was mediocre, not different at all from the ones of his beloved humans. Yes, it was athletic, lithe, fast in running and avoiding obstacles, but yet -- _so disappointing._

Lost in thoughts, Izaya spotted a familiar frame walking up the slope with ungraceful big steps, carrying a pair of shopping bags. __

_ Here it is, the monster. _

_ I wonder where he went. _

As Shizuo came closer, Izaya narrowed his eyes to have a better look at the expression on the man's face. The best bet was that he would find it darkened with anger, or even the despair that had lingered close to the surface since to the realization of what had happened to Kasuka. He was surprised, however, that instead of either, he read determination.

_ Shizu-chan _ _ crossed those lands... and yet survived. He came out unscathed from fire and enemy, he lost his little brother, he's trapped here with  _ me _, and yet..._

_ So inhumanly strong.  _

_ Hate him. _

His eyes followed the loathsome frame, observing with meticulous precision every movement Shizuo made, as Izaya had done with the humans he studied since he sat near the window. However, the monster had the innate ability tosense Izaya's gaze. Shizuo _always_ looked back at him, eyebrows knitted in a killer glance. 

Then, just a moment after, Shizuo's eyes weren't on him anymore.

The hint of annoyance in his own chest had Izaya grinning. Craning his neck, he realized the beast had broken their silent exchange of death promises to turn and greet Shinra, who had just exited from his clinic. Shizuo began scratching the back of his head, and both his cheeks and ears turned to a darker shade of pink. Then, from what Izaya could hear, his voice became smooth like velvet. When he didn't shout, or growl like a beast, Izaya realized, Shizuo had indeed a very pleasant, deep and mellow voice.

Observing the beast while he walked with Shinra through the garden, Izaya compared him with the sixteen years old Shizuo of their first meeting. That angry boy was still there, in his features and in his hazel eyes, in the way the corner of his mouth lowered when he pouted. And yet, Shizuo had changed. As time passed by, Shizuo became even taller, and his body became firmer and more muscular, with broad shoulders, strong arms and long, toned legs.

Izaya had to admit the evidence: his enemy was a handsome man. If it wasn't for short temper and insecurities -- _and the fact he is a monster, of course!_ \-- he would have been successful with women. But  Shizuo had never been. The beast had always been alone, repulsed by _anyone_ who crossed his path, girls included. It was fitting,  Izaya thought, since his beloved humans couldn't love someone as monstrous as Shizuo.

_ They will never love him.  _

When the two men were near enough, Izaya focused in trying to catch the thread of their conversation. He was able to make out something about bartending. A certain _Tom-san_ taught  Shizuo the basics to be a bartender in his pub. Izaya chuckled at the thought of someone as graceless as Shizuo vaulting between tall columns of glasses. 

_ He will fail. _

When they closed the door at their back, Izaya tapped the arms of the chair in frustration. Now the words were too blurry to be understood. Even if he held his breath, from the floor echoed just a light buzz of male voices, or sporadic laughter, clear and too high-pitched to be Shizuo's. 

Izaya's gaze shifted from an indefinite spot back on the white wall to the anthill outside the window, searching for some human frame to follow. Down on the lane, a pair of young girls were strolling around, giggling and whispering secrets in each other's ears. His eyes immediately fell on them. 

His fingers, however, kept tapping the wooden chair.

Eyelashes fluttered once, as his wicked smile faded in a neutral expression of boredom and resigned frustration. He felt like a fish in a bowl, the window glass was too thick to let him hear the sound of the outside world as clearly as he would like to, and the water surrounding him muffled his perception. He hated it. He hated how unresponsive his body was, no matter how much his nails tried to scrape the shell enveloping him, where his senses dozed like a baby chick waiting to hatch. He could recognize the daylight and the buzz of voices, but words were impossible to catch distinctly. 

His eyelashes fluttered again, and his gaze lifted to the sparkling expanse of water. 

Once again, his mind kept poking the thought that Shizu-chan had--

\-- _spared me?_

Fingers tightened as nails scraped the wooden surface. His mask, however, didn't falter even an inch, like a sheet of ice enclosing enormous sea monsters. Just as he was used to hide his emotions from others, Izaya was used to suppressing them within himself, so he didn't let the enraged creatures break the surface, even if he was alone in the white bedroom. 

When he heard steps going up the stairs accompanied by voices, the monsters disappeared, churning their caudal fins in the depth of his soul, leaving behind a placid ocean. Orderly thoughts, fingers relaxed on the chair arms. 

Not a single break in the ice.

His head turned, with an elegant motion, when Shinra opened the door carrying a tray laden with lunch. Izaya flaunted one of his most polite smiles when Shinra greeted him, but red eyes immediately darted on the tall man at the doctor's back. Shizuo carried a small, round table and a chair. Izaya followed his heavy steps until he put down the table, and then the chair, near the window. Shizuo didn't look at him for the whole time, but even if Izaya's eyes were on him, the expression on his face didn't change. He was calm. _Shizuo_ was calm -- as  Izaya's presence didn't bother him anymore.

Through the abyss laying under the ice hurtled a black shadow. 

Izaya gave an imperceptible jolt when he caught the sound of his own name, belonging to background noise that his mind had decided to shut out without asking him for consent. 

"Yes?"

"Were you listening, Izaya-kun?"

Shinra didn't wait for the answer Izaya had ready on the tip of his tongue.

"I said I've brought lunch. I hope you like seared tuna!" 

The dishes on the tray clinked as the doctor placed it on the table with a theatrical gesture. 

"And Shizuo carried the dessert!"

Through the thin paper, Izaya could see the outline of the contents, which resembled thick mushrooms. _Muffins?_

"Ah, such a lucky boy! Kyouko-san gave them for free! Ah, she must like you, eh, Shizuo-kun?"

Izaya studied the mischievous expression on Shinra's face as he elbowed Shizuo in his stomach, eliciting an embarrassed look. 

" _Kyouko_ _-_ san _?_ Hmm, interesting... So Shizu-chan found a job and hooked up with a girl, ne? Why don't you introduce her to us?"

Along the glimmering surface of Izaya's masks resounded the loud bumps of the monsters' bodies, heavy, trying to shatter the thick iced layer.

_ She has such an interesting name. _

Despite his attempt to pierce as deep as possible into the loathsome, unreadable face, the monster didn't reciprocate, but for a barely perceptible quirk of a blonde eyebrow. But Shizuo didn't look back. 

Those hazel eyes weren't on him anymore.

Shizuo just breathed a menacing rumble, so deep it shook Izaya to his very core, as though he had been stabbed.

"Don't you dare touch her, Izaya."

Shoulders closed on his chest, chin lowered and red eyes fell shut as he accepted the words, that came at him with the force of a blow, in silence. His fingers curled inward in fists, nails scraping the chair arms, grasping, holding on.

But the ice had cracked.

In a chain reaction, Izaya felt his own lips stretched in a rift. It had slashed the pristine surface of his face, revealing brooding, dark waters. 

It looked like a smirk, but it was a wound instead. 

_ Seriously, Shizu-chan...  _

_ I hate you so much. _

__


	7. Playthings

The faint click of marble hitting marble echoed in the calmness of the circular study, which was otherwise silent, its majestic walls covered in wooden bookshelves from floor to ceiling. Despite the grand size of the room, it wasn't airy. It didn't matter that on the ceiling had been painted a cerulean sky with a spiral of clouds studded with angels; entering it was like being in a crypt buried in the depths of the earth, smelling of old pages from the ancient strategic essays -- and of abandonment as well. 

Despite the fact that maids kept the study tidied up, there was no cleaning product that could wipe off the smell of a room unused for so long a time by its owner. The walls and furniture had their own volition and manifested the disappointment through the smell of forsaking. It had permanently stained the carpet and the hardwood desk, inlaid with frames of mythological monsters that the tiny fingers of a child traced in awe. They were the characters in the stories he read by himself before falling asleep, and now were the silent presences witnessing the ritual that took place every evening. This room, forgotten by everyone but him, had become his temple. Like a votive candle, the dim light of the desk lamp projected small circles of light on the chess pieces resting on the carpet and surrounding his tiny frame like an army of asleep Lilliputians.

The sacred silence broke when someone knocked at the door.

"Izaya-kun? Can I come in?"

The raven-haired child tilted his head up from the glossy surface of the chessboard, and turned toward the young maid peeking from behind the hardwood door.

"Would you like tuna for dinner?"

He just nodded. She gave the barest hint of a polite smile and a bow before closing the door, leaving him alone in his father's study. His attention came back to the marble king he held in a cupped hand while, with the other, he caressed it, examining texture -- smooth and cold to the touch like the rare gems his mother shielded in her jewelry boxes. Fingertips lingered on its white crown, admiring the precision of the cuts defining the crenellation, before he set the piece in the last row of the chessboard, face to face with his black counterpart. 

Izaya awakened the other pieces one by one, lifting their frames from the carpet and placing them at their rightful stations on the chessboard, as he had learned from his father's textbooks -- queens, bishops, knights, rooks, and two whole rows of pawns. 

It fascinated him how there were peculiar moves for each of them; every piece on that black and white microcosm had its own point of strength along with weaknesses. It was all in the player's strategic ability find the way to optimize every move to make the enemy's pieces fall asleep on the carpet again. Every piece, _everybody_ , has a weak point; a player has only to find out the most appropriate way to trap them. 

The child lifted the pawn shielding the white queen, holding it between thumb and index, with gentleness. 

_ Click. Click. _

It was always with delicacy that he made the base touch the squares, so the sound resounded melodious to his ear, barely discernible as a hushed whisper. Then, his fingers brushed the black pawn at the other side of the chessboard.

_ Click. Click. _

While he stopped to reflect on the next move, his fingertips absentmindedly traced the intersections between the squares, catching with his pads the infinitesimal gap between them. Every time he had to switch from white to black and from black to white, Izaya repeated to himself that he didn't need another person to play along, surely not some stupid child of his own age, _god forbid_ , or one of their maids -- and no, not his father, either. Of course, he could have fun by himself. The silver lining of being alone was that he could create his own rules when he desired to, enjoying himself over and over, without growing tired.

No, it was way more than that.

Painted angels and wooden mythological creatures witnessed how, alone in this dark sanctuary with his father chessboard, Izaya played at being a God. 

The corners of his mouth quirked in a smile when a black knight ate a white one. Holding the piece between his cupped hands, as though it was a baby bird fallen from its nest, he made it lay on the crimson carpet. His fingers caressed it gently. 

_ You are beautiful.  _

He loved each of them, equally, with the tender affection an eight year old child has for his favorite toy. The foreign playthings his mother sent him from time to time, when she and his father couldn't come back from abroad, could only hold his interest for the blink of an eye, a few hours at most. Once the expensive miniature train had made some turns in the long hallways of the mansion where he lived, he had set it aside. 

_ Boring. _

The papier-mâché puppet set had the same destiny. Maids found them abandoned in the middle of a hallway, with their grotesque smiles looking even creepier in the dim, perhaps due to the bitter realization that they had been abandoned forever by their owner. Izaya had been in his father's study, with his scrawny frame bent over the marble chessboard, rapt in utter adoration. 

Rejection had been the fate of the miniature cars, also the merry-go-round-- 

"Ouch!" A feminine voice came from the hallway along with a sound of steps stumbling. 

\--and also the rocking horse. 

_ Boring, boring, boring. They're nothing like this. _

"Izaya-kun, supper's ready," the same voice called him from beyond the closed door. 

When he replied, the volume of his voice had been modulated well enough for the maid to hear him and but not to break the aura of reverential silence where his playthings slept. 

"Coming."

He lifted gently, with no sound beside his quickening heartbeat. He smoothed the folds from his trousers, buttoned up the shirt until the last button, flinching at how it pressed on his neck, and checked with a fast glance if his nails were manicured. He didn't want to be scolded tonight, not in the evening he had waited for a whole week--

"Ah, Izaya-kun, your parents won't arrive tonight. They postponed their return from abroad, your mother is still busy."

Izaya turned his head sideways, smiling through the shadow of his black hair at the sting of pain somewhere in his chest and, despite what he tried to tell himself, had nothing to do with an accident during the fencing lessons he attended every afternoon. Instinctively, his fingers twitched and curled in loose fists.

"Hmm, I see." 

He followed her through the hallway, in the silence of his own thoughts and feline-light steps. The corners of his mouth didn't raise of an inch when, through the deafening ticking of her heels, he heard her utter:"But you should be happy, Izaya-kun, Kyouko-sama sent you a new toy."

*

"Hmm, I see."

The twenty-three years old Izaya murmured, with his head turned to one side, while casted a look at Shizuo through raven-black bangs. His fingers were curled across the armrests, forming the angular shapes of hinted fists. But it lasted only for the blink of an eye, because when they lifted to take hold of a pair of wooden chopsticks, they looked relaxed and elegant as usual. Shizuo, on the other hand, limited himself to sit on the chair he carried from downstairs, head lowered over the meal. 

It was the first time Shinra witnessed a verbal interaction between the two man that didn't mention the threat of death to one of them, and he felt even more confused about the nature of their relationship. His attention shifted from one to the other, and it didn't took much time before he understood that between the two men was taking place an implicit discussion he wasn't supposed to garner meaning from. He couldn't understand why those two men -- those two _soldiers_ \-- were waiting for death embracing like lovers but, once awoken, they seemed to hate each other such passionately. 

When rationality left Shinra confused, it had been instinct which made him realize the one thing he couldn't doubt: it might be hate, or love, but there was a powerful current between them.

"Ne, Shizu-chan," Izaya whispered, leaning on the small table with the express intent of invading the other's personal space. Shizuo didn't draw back; he lifted his gaze instead, looking Izaya straight in the eye. Irritation creased his forehead when their noses barely brushed, and the doctor couldn't decide if the annoyance was due more to the other's proximity or to the murmured words that followed. "Does _Kyouko_ _-san_ know what kind of being you are?"

Shinra's upper body drew back and brows furrowed at the instinctive sensation that those words, gravid with venomous sarcasm, induced -- like a lightning bolt. The tension in the following silence made him wait for the inevitable thunderclap \-- and so it occurred. However, even if it was a thunder that didn't make glass tremble with the power of the sound wave, the look on Shizuo's face was so intense and frightful that Shinra made a mental note to do nothing in the future that could provoke such a killer gaze. 

In response, Izaya stretched his lips in a smile that looked as poisonous as his words. Izaya seemed such a good-mannered person, but the expression on his face seeped through Shinra's flesh to such extent to leave behind a sensation of unease: the suspicion that his politeness served only as an implicit intimidation.

"Izaya..." 

The deep growl had the doctor's hair bristling and self-preservation made him turn his head to the door, to find a means of escape just in case the thin balance between the two men would break. Unexpectedly, Shizuo flinched and then murmured "Shinra, please sit."

Shinra hinted a nod and obeyed, sitting at one corner of the bed. He heard Shizuo letting out a deep breath before he started talking.

"I think you already know I'm not a normal human being. My physical strength is way beyond normal standards and this is the reason why I can lift that wardrobe without effort. I don't know where it comes from." The volume of his voice lowered to a barely hearable whisper, as he was talking more with himself than with the doctor, when he added "Well, once someone tried to explain that but I got pissed off and--"

He ruffled his hair violently, teeth gritted before he calmed himself and grabbed his pair of chopsticks to play absentmindedly with a slice of tuna.

"But the problem is not my strength. The issue is that when I'm angry I can't control it anymore, I can destroy everything, I can even hurt people I care about. There's a _monster_ in me I can't control--"

"Ah! So you finally admitted _what_ you are,  Shizu-chan." 

 

Izaya grinned, savoring the crack of the chopsticks breaking between Shizuo's growls -- the most pleasing sounds to his ears. Despite Shizuo trying to stab him with the force of his gaze alone, Izaya turned toward Shinra, because he would _never_ miss the moment where surprise would escalate into fear, or perhaps even disgust, if he was lucky enough. 

But the grin miserably withered on his lips because Shinra was beaming instead, with such genuine astonishment the smile reached his eyes and ignited them beyond the thick glasses. Searching for a hint, any kind of twitch that indicated the doctor was just concealing the fear proved to be a vain effort. Indeed, Shinra was far from being even worried. He looked amazed. 

_...Eh? _

"WONDERFUL! I knew there was something special in you, that wardrobe is way too heavy for everyone!"

_ Wait -- _ __

"Please, please, please, Shizuo-kun, can I take a sample of your blood?"

_ No, it can't be! He finds him -- interesting? Why isn't he afraid? What does he find interesting in a monster? He had seen what that beast's capable to do. He's dangerous, he can't be controlled... _

"Um, well... I guess it's okay..."

"Wait! I'll come back in a moment, I left my bag downstairs!" 

Stunned, Izaya followed the doctor's frame dashing out of the room, then his attention focused back on Shizuo. The monster wasn't looking at him; his gaze was fixed on the door that Shinra had just exited, so Izaya took his time to study the expression on his face without threats of death. Shizuo's stare was blank, as though he was too lost at processing what happened to focus on the present time. 

"Are you happy?"

From the absence of quiver in his features, Shizuo hadn't got the sarcasm in Izaya's words. 

"This is the first time..."

Words came out from his mouth in a whisper, and there had been no way Izaya could have understood them if he hadn't looked at their birth on his lips. Just for the blink of an eye, in a distant part of his memory took form the reminiscence of those same lips kissing his hair, in such a sweet and affectionate way he had even doubted whom they belonged to. Because they were supposed to be rough and hard enough to bruise, to let teeth scrape and devour, right? They _shouldn't_ feel so soft, it didn't suit a monster like him at all.

The corners of his mouth stretched in a tensed bow, both in response to his own thoughts and to the rare event of his nemesis' face gradually relaxing, as though all the tensions had been washed away from his jaw, from his forehead and from the corners of his lips, leaving place to an expression of relief. 

Before he could find a satisfying provocation to spoil that _disturbing_ look,  Shinra came back in the room, holding a battered-looking doctor’s bag. He didn't even take a moment to catch his breath and, totally ignoring Izaya, approached Shizuo. 

Izaya lifted one brow at such display of unjustified excitement when Shinra opened the doctor bag to pull out cotton, disinfectant and a rubber band, and then knelt near Shizuo, in a way Izaya had always linked to cheesy romantic comedies where the guy proposes to the girl right on cue. It made his stomach churn, how Shinra hummed under his breath as he disinfected the crook of Shizuo's elbow and removed a syringe from its package. 

"Shizuo-kun, you have no idea how much this means to me!"

Izaya didn't bother to conceal his annoyance as he rolled his eyes. After all, there wasn't even a remote possibility that Shinra noticed him, all excited as he was by the beast.

_ So disgusting... He's a doctor, right? And doctors should be interested in humans, not in monsters. Eh, perhaps that freak is even interested in supernatural bullshit-- _

The intuition hit him with a sudden flash, leaving him blinded by its magnitude. His mind stood blank, as though the links between his neurons had been cut for a millisecond, just for reactivating in an explosion-like rush immediately after. Annoyance flowed out of his body when curiosity filled him, indeed he didn't even raise an eyebrow when Shinra extracted the needle and put the syringe back in the doctor bag, holding it on his palms as though it was a holy relic. 

"Thanks a lot, Shizuo-kun."

"Ah, no problem, it didn't hurt," Shizuo muttered as he stood up, heading toward the door. "Chopsticks," he answered at the questioning look on Shinra's face. "I broke mine."

"I think my father holds some extra pair in the second drawer, but I'm not sure!" Shinra chirped, and then added, once Shizuo had exited the room, "How are your wrists, Izaya\--"

"Tell me, Shinra. Where did you find Shizu-chan and me? It was in the haunted lands, wasn’t it?" 

Shinra exhaled and lowered his head to avoid the other's gaze, even if Izaya had his head turned toward the window _._

"Yes. I found both of you there."

"And, _please_ , tell me... what were you doing in such places? Moreover, in the dead of night."

Izaya wasn't certain of what he was implying and was well aware his words were a gamble, since his memories from that night were as nebulous in his head as one of his childhood dreams. He remembered the smell of grass and blood, and the night surrounding his body in an embrace as cold as the arms holding him. He remembered the touch of Shizuo's shirt against his own lips and how he could hear his breath becoming fainter and fainter, until it wasn't distinguishable anymore from the breeze caressing his cheeks. 

Shizuo was dying. 

And he was dying too. 

In a last-ditch attempt, he had shouted the words struggling for release from his tongue, from his throat, from every inch of his body:

_ "Help." _

His voice came out muffled, faint as Shizuo's heartbeat. He emptied his lungs once again, eyes closed shut in the pain of the effort. Then, he shouted one last time, and his instinct knew it was really the last, his chance of salvation lay in a single word: 

_ "Please." _

In retrospect, Izaya found it bitterly amusing that what could have been his last word was the one he dispensed just to strengthen his facade of politeness, until it was solid enough to hide his true purposes. He had always swallowed it without complaining, even if it tasted so syrupy sweet that it had always left a bad aftertaste on his tongue. But then, that same six letters word tasted completely different. It tasted of desperation, it tasted as bitter as the blood and smoke still lingering on his palate, as the future that would not wait for him, bitter as his past. And that taste was _definitely_ worse.

 

"Would you believe me, Izaya?" 

Izaya jolted when Shinra's voice broke his train of thought. He turned, flaunting one of his best smiles, and then uttered "Of course I would."

"Well... I was searching for the woman I love."

One thin eyebrow arched at the absurd explanation, but it surely went unnoticed by Shinra, who had his gaze fixed on a point on the floor beyond his intertwined hands. Izaya heard him exhaling, then his words came out in a whisper.

"She's a _Dullahan_."

 

Before Izaya could regain control over the way surprise stretched his features without his consent, Shizuo appeared on the threshold with a new pair of chopsticks, and he must have read something on Izaya's face because he blurted out: 

"What's happening here?"

"Nothing, don't worry!" Shinra giggled as he stood up, casting a last, quick glance to Izaya. "Ah! In the end did you find them, Shizuo-kun?" 

"Yeah, they're in the third drawer. I'm gonna pay for that one I broke, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, don't worry!" Shinra beamed, but Izaya clearly spotted his smile becoming melancholic before he turned and headed toward the door, hinting a goodbye with his hand raised. "See you soon and enjoy your meal!"

Though Izaya wanted to make the doctor stay to needle him about every detail, he didn't stop him. There was no proof to the doctor's words for now, and Izaya needed more information to understand if there existed even a glimmer of truth. However, Shizuo must be kept in the dark. If there was a _hope_ , it would surely be thin as a spider web thread, and he couldn't permit Shizuo's unpredictability to cut it. 

He knew he must be patient and talk with Shinra once they were alone, without any risk of interrupting monsters. For now, he would liked to have time on his own to digest the shocking revelation, but instead, he had to impose calmness on his still trembling fingers and find a convincing smirk for Shizuo. 

Hazel eyes rested on him long enough for Izaya to wonder if he was successful. 

The line of Shizuo’s brows drew downwards, and he growled something under his breath before he started eating. Even though Izaya already had plenty of plausible lies on the tip of his tongue, Shizuo hadn't asked him explanations about headless women. 

Most likely, Shizuo hadn't heard what Shinra had said, or had no clue what a Dullahan was to begin with. He couldn't mess with something he hadn't even the slightest idea about, right?

Izaya's smirk deepened.

He had still control. 

Perhaps, he thought, immortality wasn't so out of reach anymore.

*

In the early afternoon, Izaya was still sitting by the window. The table had been cleared from their meal half an hour before, and on its polished surface now lay the chessboard Shinra lend it to him this morningalong with a pair of biology books. 

While Izaya pouted at how far the chessboard was from his father’s luxurious set, nostalgia made him wonder under how many layers of soot it, and the rest of their camp, now rested. His right hand twitched at the remembrance of how cold and smooth its surface felt under his fingertips, how the minuscule intersections between each square tickled his skin and had a soothing effect on his nerves. Izaya wondered which of the sixty-four squares were disfigured by a web of thin fissures crossing from side to side by now, and which of the thirty-two pieces laid still on its place, waiting for the next match -- probably none. 

He exhaled, slowly, trying to soothe the pressure on his breastbone that was making his breath shallow, and moved the white pawn he held between thumb and index.

_ Click. Click. _

He exhaled again, but in a short loud burst. _It's just glass on glass._

At his back rose a growl, feral like the one of an angry dog. Izaya ignored it and lifted the black horse. 

_ Click. _

A loud "Fuck!" barely muffled by the pillow came from the bed. Izaya shrugged, trying to focus on the next move. The slight pain on his right wrist, added to the beast rolling on the sheets, tripped his attention away from the state of mind he needed to plan clever moves.

_ Click.  _

"Izaya..."

_ Click. _

Izaya raised one eyebrow at the stupid move he had just made -- all the beast's fault. 

"If you can't sleep it means you aren't tired enough, Shizu-chan."

"Bullshit! It's your fault, flea! You didn't let me sleep last night and I have to work soon!"

Izaya heard the impact of a fist on the mattress along with a growled: "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Stop complaining, I can't focus. If you can't sleep, at least be quiet."

"Hah?! And what am I supposed to do? Stare at a fucking wall?"

"You can read, Shizu-chan." 

"Biology?!"

"You don't have much of a choice, and I guess staring a wall for a protozoan like you is much more enthralling than reading a book you can’t even begin to understand, or playing a chess match with someone like me."

Izaya realized that what he had just said just for provocation sounded a bit too much like an invite. Of course, he didn't want to play with Shizuo at all. Luckily Izaya was aware that, for Shizuo, even biology was better than spending other time in Izaya's company. 

His fingers tapped the chair arms as he waited for another shower of grunts and insults which, however, never came. For a split second, a pair of thin wrinkles creased his forehead when he heard a rustle of sheets at his back, and approaching heavy steps. The blond monster sprawled on the chair at the other side of the small table, ruffling his bleached hair before he spoke with an exhausted voice across the palms of his hands, as an attempt to wash away the drowsiness rubbing his face violently.

"Teach me."

Izaya tilted his chin up, savoring the image of his arch-enemy sleep-deprived by his own hand. 

"It's a strategy game, are you sure a Neanderthal like you won't get bored?"

"Oi flea! I may not be the fricking smartass you are, but I'm not the idiot you think I am." 

And then, the aggressiveness in his voice faltered and made Izaya wonder if perhaps Shizuo's hands were trying to wash away _something more_ than drowsiness. "I don't have choice, I would stare at the wall, but having nothing to do means thinking, _remembering_ \--  Aaah I don't even know why I'm saying this to you."

With his head tilted to one side, Izaya examined his monster. Then, he began to put the pieces back in their starting positions, muttering under his breath, "I don't want to play with Shizu-chan at all." Slowly he reset the board, glancing up, every now and then, to see if Shizuo had lifted into a proper sitting position. 

"If we start, we have to finish the match, you know? Growling, trying to hit me, throwing away the pieces or destroying the chessboard are not allowed, even if you lose." 

_ And of course you'll lose. _

Shizuo's eyes were glistening too much to blame on exhaustion when he lifted his head for the time needed to burst out "Hah? Of course I won't!" Indeed, his hands hid his face once again when he muttered "It's just a fucking game."

Izaya exhaled, massaging his temples to get rid of the hint of a headache and of the image of his monster on verge of shattering. After all, despite the fact that today Shizuo had found people who could accept him for who he was, or even love him, for the beast that was a cold comfort -- once alone and undistracted, the sense of guilt for losing his little brother in the fire was something he could never escape. 

"Whatever. Let's start. What do you know about chess, Shizu-chan?"

This Shizuo looked like the ghost of the old one when his arms rested on his knees and looked at him. He seemed _lost_ , so desperate and lonely he would play with Izaya instead of being alone with his thoughts. 

"You have to checkmate your opponent's king to win, right?"

Izaya nodded. “Yes, that's true. But do you know what its deepest purpose is?" 

 

Shizuo didn't bother to answer him; he knew the flea enough to understand when his questions were rhetorical, so he just stared at the other in silence. And then, his upper body lifted out of curiosity when he witnessed at the birth of a spark of excitement in Izaya's features. But whether it was ready to explode in childish joy or madness, Shizuo couldn't decide. Or perhaps, he thought, it was such a childlike enthusiasm it seemed like madness in the eyes of a grown-up man. 

"You know, the real issue is to plan all your moves in order to weave a net of traps to corner, and then defeat, all your opponent's pieces, obviously supporting your own. You can capture everyone if you master their qualities and their Achilles' heels as well." Izaya put the last piece back and lifted his gaze from the chessboard to Shizuo. "Understand?" 

Shizuo just nodded, even if he felt a bit annoyed by the smartass tone in Izaya's voice and the notion of fighting fire with fire tickled his guts. What stopped him was the glimmer of a sensation, so faint it was barely more than premonition but still made him lean closer to the other man. 

"Perfect, let's start with the basics. I'm going to explain to you how the pieces move and capture the opponent's, so pay attention."

Shizuo _was_ paying attention -- not to meaning, but to _sound_. But it wasn't the ticking of glass on glass that held his interest; it was the strange tone of  Izaya’s voice. There wasn't trace of his mocking chirp, no provocation or words stressed just so to incite a reaction in Shizuo. Izaya's voice flowed out like a script; words came in succession as his brain didn't need time to choose the most appropriate one. Shizuo wondered if Izaya had composed them beforehand to prepare himself for a moment where he would teach his favorite game to someone.

He shook his head. 

No, it didn't sound like something Izaya would do at all, because Izaya played alone -- with chess pieces, and with people. And yet, he couldn't shake off from his mind the image of his nemesis as a child, moving pieces while he explained with this same excitement.

Shizuo blinked. 

Undressed from the smirks and provocations he flaunted in Shizuo's presence, Izaya looked young, and somehow less distant. He looked _human_ , and, beyond that, one as lonely as Shizuo was. 

"Understand?"

"Eh?"

Izaya rolled his eyes. "Earth to Shizu-chan! I'm going to explain it again, but be careful because this time is the last!"

_ Even if he is a bloodsucking flea, even if I hate him-- _

Shizuo shifted his attention from Izaya to the chessboard, where Izaya moved the different pieces in what seemed to him to be foreign dances. Izaya's long fingers were firm and elegant in lifting tiny pawns and majestic queens in a precise way which transcended technique, and seemed something closer to affection. 

At some point, as he nodded to Izaya's accurate explanations, the anger and grief, perhaps even loneliness lifted from his chest, leaving his whole being relaxed. Shizuo was aware that this state of mind wouldn't last for long in Izaya's presence; sooner or later the flea would say something with the express purpose of pissing him off. But for now, he decided to enjoy the sensation. 

"That's all. Don't worry if you don't feel confident, with practice you'll overcome every insecurity."

Izaya lifted his head, searching for approval in the other's feature. A puff of wind was blowing into the white bedroom, surrounding them with the faint smell of mowed lawn and saltiness when Izaya spoke again, the corners of his mouth raised in a symmetrical bow that looked so similar to the sincere smile that was now stretching Shizuo's lips.

"Can we play now?"


	8. Connect the dots

Shizuo knocked on the fancy door twice. 

The colorful glass pieces adorning the oak wood mirrored a distorted image of his own face. He tried to smooth, with little success, the unruly hair at the side of his head and then put his hands back in the pockets of his new black trousers, elegant pants with the sharp crease in the middle of each leg and the thin leather belt at the waist. Tom had given them to him along with shoes, a white shirt that felt a bit tight at the shoulders and a black tie that he _still_ had no idea how to knot.

Izaya, watching him get ready, had giggled, loud enough for Shizuo to hear him from his place in front of the wardrobe mirror, his chin tilted up in a theatrical gesture of superiority. _"I can't believe you don't know how to wear a tie,"_ the flea had chirped after he had fully enjoyed the birth of the umpteenth failed knot. 

When Shizuo knocked at the pub's door it was few minutes past seven. Tom appeared on the threshold with a brass saxophone hanging from his neck. He smiled.

"Come in," said Tom. 

Inside the empty pub, both floor and walls were covered in glossy wooden panels. The place was full of tables, except for the bar area and a corner where there was a small, slightly raised stage with a piano and drums. The light above the tables came out dimmed by dark red silken lampshades, projecting a warm glow on the glass frames shielding monochromatic photos of jazz players Shizuo had never seen before. Tom's pub reminded Shizuo a bit of a den, dark but relaxing. Shizuo hadn't been in many bars in his life, but the ones he remembered were dingy, with counters and carpets stinking of the same sour spilled beer that left his fingers sticky. He flinched at the memory. Tom's pub, on the other hand, was an elegant and clean place,  smelling of beeswax from the furniture polish, small in size with great attention put in choosing each detail, from the paneled ceiling to the marble surface of the counter. He liked it. 

"This evening I play music with some friends of mine. Do you like jazz, Shizuo-kun?"

"It's fine." 

"Good! Ah, you won't be alone, Erika will help you keep up with the orders." Tom checked the golden watch at his wrist. "She'll be here in minutes."

After Shizuo had passed a couple of hours with Karisawa Erika, and observed her interacting with clients, he came to the conclusion she was outgoing and straightforward -- qualities he appreciated. She had also been so kind as to help him with some troublesome situations he didn't know how to deal with, what with his lack of experience. Erika was a good bartender, and a patient upperclassman but, every now and then, she got _very_ excited. She giggled, jumped and clapped her hands above her head because, from what Shizuo had heard above the loud music, the three men playing jazz with Tom were friends of her. Anyway, the first time she squealed caught him so much by surprise he broke a beer mug. 

Erika was only quiet when she helped him picking up the glass pieces. Used to rigid military habits since he was a boy, Shizuo expected to be scolded. She just asked him if he was fine. 

"Ne, ne, aren't they gooood?" Erika shouted above the round of applauses when the concert ended, elbowing him in the ribs hard enough to knock breath out of his lungs. He broke a carafe. 

Once the counter had been cleaned from the broken glasses, Erika introduced him to her friends. Luckily for Shizuo (and Tom's glasses), they looked more collected than her, especially the double bass player, Togusa Saburo, and the drummer, a tall man in his mid-twenties called Kadota Kyohei. 

"Hope you enjoyed the concert," he said as he took off the black beanie he was wearing; Shizuo guessed it was so that he wouldn’t have hair on his face while he played.

The last person composing the quartet was a pianist named Yumasaki Walker. He was a short boy with sand blond hair and a gaze which reminded Shizuo of a fox. Erika affectionately called him _Yumacchi_ and, now that Shizuo thought about it, that was another thing he didn't like about her -- her irrepressible need to assign a nickname to everyone she was close with, Shizuo \-- or, better, _Shizu-Shizu_ – now included; only Tom was spared since he was her boss. It was annoying because it immediately reminded him of _a_ _certain flea_ Shizuo didn't want to think about, especially because it undermined his pride a bit admitting he was grateful to him. Indeed, Izaya had saved him from the embarrassing situation of attending his first day of work with a ridiculously knotted tie. 

The sensation of Izaya's elegant fingers still lingered on his neck like a phantom. 

_ "So  _ she _bandaged it for you,"_ Izaya had said before Shizuo went to work, fingertips brushing the gauze covering the wound on Shizuo's neck. 

Shizuo, against his will, reacted. 

He took a shuddering breath when Izaya touched him, the pads of his fingers a barely perceptible pressure across his neck, shifting to make the tie slid down from the shirt collar.

_ "Lower yourself a bit more." _

Shizuo obeyed. Not bothering to answer him back, he had lowered his upper body so Izaya could access at his shirt collar with ease. The bandages covering Izaya's sprained wrists as support weren't enough to keep his brows from knitting in pain slightly. Shizuo mirrored the flinch when Izaya buttoned his shirt to the topmost button -- it constricted his neck too much and the flea must have known it based on the way he smirked.

After the tie had encircled his neck, Shizuo caught the instant when scarlet eyes sharpened in concentration. From such proximity, Shizuo felt the damp hotness of breath on his own neck, slow but constant, and the scent of the lavender flavored shampoo they shared lingering on raven-black strands, along with the flea smell he could recognize between thousands -- Izaya's scent.

As soon as hands began twisting with self-confident movements, Shizuo saw Izaya's lips parting. The tip of his tongue moistened them, leaving them glistening. Then, he started on chewing his lower lip, absentmindedly, until fingers left the tie. 

_ "Done."  _

His heartbeat caught in his chest when scarlet eyes darted up. Shizuo's gaze shifted but it took him a moment to collect himself, so he didn't react immediately when Izaya chirped: _"Just out of curiosity, what did you wear during dates, Shizu-chan?"_

__

Shizuo's mouth clenched the cigarette he held between his lips as Izaya's words from hours before resurfaced in his mind. The night had passed quickly; it was around two in the morning, now, and Tom had rounded up and ejected the few remaining patrons, closed and locked the pub door, and offered Shizuo a smoke. He didn't refuse it, so they sat on a bench facing the sea. 

"How was your first day?" asked Tom.

Shizuo took a deep drag. He enjoyed the bitter taste of tobacco deep in his throat, nicotine calming his blood from images of crimson eyes. He exhaled, looking at the trail of smoke dissolving in the air.

"Thank you."

Tom chuckled. "You're welcome."

Around them the village was asleep; the only sounds in the air were the ripples of tiny waves lapping against hulls and their exhalations of clouds of smoke.

"May I ask you a personal question, Shizuo-kun?" Tom asked after a pause, breaking the silence. 

"Of course."

"Have you been here long? I've never seen you before yesterday evening."

"No, I only arrived a few days ago."

"As I imagined," Tom said, his voice lacking the usual lightheartedness Shizuo was starting to get accustomed to. "I don't want to scare you but since you said you just arrived, there's something I must warn you about."

Out of the corner of his eye, Shizuo saw Tom’s right hand clenching in a fist in his trouser pocket.

"Don't worry, this is a peaceful village, the wars between city-states hopefully won't reach us anytime soon, but we live close to dangerous places. Please, _please_ Shizuo-kun, never venture in the wild lands."

_ Why? _ Shizuo craved to ask, since he saw no physical harm in an infinite succession of wooded hills. He would like to tell Tom that there was no need to be scared; he had already been there and he came out unscathed. However, he didn’t want to come off as rude to his boss, either, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Here, take mine." 

Shizuo went wide-eyed when Tom offered him a lucky charm, red with white flowers, identical to the one Kasuka had given him days before. 

"Hold it with you and never cross the rope hung with talismans. It's right on the hill at our backs, when houses end and forest starts."

Tom's voice came out broken when he added: "Usually I'm not eager to talk about those places, but I owe you my life, Shizuo-kun. I must tell you what you will find if you decide to cross the rope. You know, ages ago, my friends and I dared to go in the depth of the wild lands, looking for adventure, and for answers." 

His gaze slid from his cigarette to Shizuo.

“We’ve seen _it_ \--"

Far away, an owl hooted, shattering the night with its ominous call. It was the only sound in the air aside from the waves. Their exhalations were nowhere to be found, ashes accumulating on their cigarettes tips until they fell on shoes and cobblestones, silently.

"We've seen the monster who kills humans." 

*

In the dark and silence of the early morning, Shizuo trotted along the uphill path that lead to his new dwelling. In the distance, he could see that the lights in their house were off. It didn't surprised him; surely Izaya was already asleep. 

The flea must have been tired, since they ended up playing chess for hours this afternoon. Izaya was an expert chess player, so the matches hadn't been relaxing or easy – nor, satisfactory, either. With a smile stretching his lips, Izaya had dismantled every smart move Shizuo could think with the inevitability of high tide against poorly made sand castles. Izaya had been ruthless despite Shizuo being a newbie. Needless to say, there were cracks in the white chess pieces now.

When they decided to stop playing for the sake of Shinra's chess set, Shizuo had cleaned the house and prepared dinner. Izaya had, as expected, complained about his choice of food just like the lousy flea he was. 

_ "I really despise processed foods. They're not healthy and handmade meals can tell me the personality of the human who cooked them,"  _ Izaya had muttered, wrinkling his nose when he tasted the instant noodles. _"I don't know how it works with Shizu-chan, though,"_ he added absent-mindedly, his attention already shifted to his beloved humans beyond the window glass.

Shizuo wondered why Izaya kept watching the humans outside the window. Even this morning, when Shizuo came back home after he met Kyouko and Tom, Izaya was sitting by the window examining what happened in the village lanes. 

Shizuo stopped walking and looked at his right.

In this village, he couldn't see anything beside closed windows and lampposts enlightening trails of roads and alleys, suggesting the ways to walk to reach home despite the dark. Halos in the backdrop of night reminded him dots on a white sheet -- _Connect the dots_ was the puzzle game he loved to solve when he was a child. 

Connecting the dots with pencil lines, from one to sixty, he would surely get an image from the apparent chaos, a bigger picture he couldn't figure out before -- a target he believed unreachable. Following the light spots from the lampposts, he would reach a destination. 

_ Keep walking, keep tracing lines. _

_ Keep going on. _

He had always believed every time a bone broke, a muscle sprained, a blood drop slid down his skin, he would be closer to his destination -- he would become stronger, until he would be strong enough to master his rage, strong enough to bury the monster inside of him deep enough it wouldn't resurface anymore. 

Strong enough to prove to other people he was human.

Strong enough to _consider himself_ human.

Heiwajima Shizuo believed in continuing to struggle, continuing doing his best, continuing going on.

_ Just follow the lampposts' lights, just connect the dots. _

...Wait. 

_ What if I won't reach my ending? What if, despite connecting the dots, there won't be a final picture but just a mess of sloppy lines?  _

_ What if, in an indefinite moment after my childhood ended, I lost the ability to connect the dots?  _

A part of him replied he was already trapped in a maze of useless lines and fights and struggles that hadn't brought him closer to destination but kept him in a limbo of deceptive halos and mirages. 

And yet, another _stupid, irrational, delusional_ part of him kept his feet in motion when he had walked for miles in the wild lands so he wouldn't stop and seek comfort in death-- 

_ \-- But _ _isn't clear enough it brought you nowhere?_

His head lowered to the ground at the bitter truth. The diffuse light of a lamppost tinted the dark asphalt under his feet warm yellow, and it was just now Shizuo realized he wasn't alone.

Near him there was a black cat, scrawny for the hot weather, his ears too big, tail too long and slender to make him look like the kittens on cat food commercial posters. He tottered near Shizuo's calf and arched his back to rub across his new trousers, his fur warm. 

Shizuo stared at him, not lifting a finger, just waiting for the cat to stop _whatever he was doing_ and go away.

"I don't like cats." 

Blunt yes, but it was the truth. Shizuo had always considered himself more a dog person. Not that he ever had a pet in his life; it was a certainty based on a gut feeling. In response, the black cat arched his back even more and began to purr. 

"Go away."

Nothing. Shizuo didn't like cats but he couldn't deny that this one seemed to like him a lot, and now he didn't know what to do to make him leave. Shizuo began ruffling the hair at the back of his head. 

Should he simply walk away? And what if the furry little thing didn't go away and one tiny pawn ended under one of his soles? Should he move the cat by force and then walk away? Snorting, he decided the latter was for the best; he couldn't risk stepping on something so frail as a kitten's paw. He leaned over, his hands wide open to grab the cat from his belly. 

As soon as fingertips brushed the soft fur, he froze.

He couldn't do it, not with the hands of his, because they could handle the touch of metal pipes, tree barks and broken limbs, but the strength required to hold a kitten must be completely different. Looking at his palms and fingers, he remembered the sensation of glass shattering on his skin. 

_ What if I...? _

His hands twitched, heartbeat increased when soft fur rubbed across his fingers. Pressed against his palm, there were a tiny head and soft ears. The scrawny cat kept searching for his touch with weak bumps, nuzzling against his palm, asking Shizuo to pet him. Shizuo witnessed with horror at how his fingers began to tremble with panic, cold sweat dampening the white shirt collar. His teeth clenched and eyes fell shut in the concentration of keeping every single muscle, every single bone, every single cell in his hand, perfectly still, until he couldn’t feel the softness of fur against his skin anymore. 

"Get lost," he managed to growl under his breath. 

It surprised him when the cat stopped his ministrations to look at him, placid and fearless. Shizuo, indeed, was way more scared than the black cat. 

"I said get lost! Go away! Understand? Damn..."

Desperate and terrified, Shizuo decided to take advantage of the cat's stillness to walk away. He stood slowly and stepped forward as careful as he could, just in case the cat decided to run around his shoes again, and left him behind. After few steps, Shizuo turned. His eyebrows knitted because the kitten followed him toddling, his thin tail lifted. 

"Oi, you! Stay there!" 

He waved his hand and sped up the pace, beginning to run when he understood there was no other way to leave behind the furry little bother. He was glad Izaya was already in bed and wasn't looking outside the window, otherwise he would have surely split his sides laughing at his nemesis escaping from a kitten.

When he arrived in front of their house, the cat was nowhere in sight.

*

In the bedroom, the bed was empty. 

Shizuo found Izaya still sitting on the chair near the window, sound asleep, with his chin tipped onto his chest. On the table where they ate lunch and dinner sat Shinra's chessboard, the glass pieces gleaming in a sinister way in the moonlight. 

Izaya woke up as soon as Shizuo entered the room. He composed himself quickly, pretending he wasn't asleep at all, but his voice was hoarse and his eyes sleepy when he muttered: "Oh, Shizu-chan."

"What the hell are you doing, flea? Why are you sleeping there, are you stupid?"

Of course he wasn't. Izaya had a lot of flaws, but he was far from being stupid. Shizuo just couldn't understand what there was in his brain at all. _Why is he still there? Had he passed all the evening watching people?_

Izaya answered him with a bitter laugh and tried to stand up. Drowsiness made him unmindful of his injured knee, or he just took for granted that he could do a simple action as such as standing on his feet. He stumbled instead, breathing heavily through his nose, trying to muffle a whimper of pain. 

Shizuo reached out, watching for any sign of hesitation in Izaya’s features. He expected Izaya would flash one of his knives, slashing his chest or his neck. Instead, the touch he offered was accepted, his arm passing over Izaya’s back, fingers sliding on the flea’s side, gentle.

Shizuo closed the distance, mere inches, that separate them and pressed Izaya's body against his own. Izaya was warm with sleep and hard with tension. A pale hand caught on his hair as Shizuo looped Izaya’s arm over his own shoulder so Izaya could lean on him. Shizuo’s palm slid over Izaya’s waist, slowly, very slowly but holding him tight. He lowered himself to make the height difference less considerable and prevent Izaya from dangling off of him. Izaya's fingers curled around his shoulder, his hipbone hard where it pressed into Shizuo's side. A pulse beat across Shizuo's neck.

"You smoked," Izaya said.

"Yeah," Shizuo replied, his voice soft.

Izaya tilted his head toward him.

"It stinks."

"You stink more." 

Once he had helped Izaya to bed, he took off his own clothes. When he folded the trousers, the lucky charm Tom gave him slipped out of the pocket, falling on the floor. He picked it up and put it on his bedside table, only to realize he had just crossed in front of Izaya's line of vision.

_ Was he looking outside -- again?! _

Shizuo lay down on his back, staring absentmindedly at the wooden fan above his head. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Izaya was looking at ceiling, his face wiped clean of every expression.

"Oi, flea."

"Hmm?"

"Um... Tomorrow, do you want to go somewhere?"

Izaya rolled on his side to face Shizuo, his eyes electric.

"Eeeeh, Shizu-chan wants to go on a date with me?"

Shizuo snapped, turning so he was face to face with his nemesis.

"Who would ever want to go on a date with a fucking louse like you?!" He inhaled deeply, craving for a breath of nicotine-filled air to soothe his nerves. "Don't piss me off, Izaya! Do you want to sit there watching people's lives 'till you're healed? Do you know what it seems like? God, it's like that movie -- _Rear Window!_ "

Izaya laughed. The sound wasn't the usual mechanic snicker that ignited Shizuo's blood with desire to squash the flea under his fists. It left him shocked. 

"And you would be Grace Kelly, I suppose!"

"Hah?! What did you say?"

"You two are quite alike you know -- two blond _socialites_ always ready to exhibit a new dress!"

"Wanna die that badly, flea?"

Izaya's mouth crooked up at the corners.

"It's one of the things -- _many_ things -- I've never understood about you, Shizu-chan. Back in the army, you actually spent the few evenings we had to enjoy ourselves going into old-fashioned cinemas to watch some old movie. Ah, I almost forgot -- eating caramel popcorn."

"Why not?" Shizuo murmured, only to add on, snarling: "Wait -- did you actually spy on me? I knew something stunk, it was you--" 

Scarlet eyes flashed.

"Watching movies might be your hobby, but mine is observing humans," Izaya paused for emphasis " _and_ Shizu-chan."

Izaya's smile was razor-sharp, dangerous, the eye not hidden in the pillow closed to a slit. 

"Izaya..."

"Sometimes I make interesting discoveries. For example, I would have never guessed Shizu-chan was superstitious."

"I'm not," Shizuo replied.

"But you had a lucky charm in your pocket. What do you think a talisman would protect _you_ from?"

"My boss gave that to me."

"Hmm, I see. People surely can be really irrational if they give so much credit to old legends--"

"Don't talk shit about him, Izaya," Shizuo growled. 

"So you do trust him?" 

In response to Shizuo's silence, Izaya drew nearer. Now both his eyes were back on Shizuo, serious, the mocking smirk vanished from his face. 

"Well, "Shizuo muttered, his brows knitting at such awkward display of interest.”Tom-san said he had seen _a monster_ in the wild lands. He looked truly scared when he told me. I trust him, even if--"

"Even if?"

"Back then, when I crossed the wild lands with you, I didn’t see anything."

"Anything at all?"

Shizuo shook his head.

"At all. Far as I saw, there's nothing there. Just wooded hills, a lot of ‘em. So many wooded hills and fields that I felt--" 

Izaya stared at him, waiting for him to continue speaking. But was he supposed to say? _I felt -- lonely? Thankful to have you with me?_ It unsettled him even thinking about how he had kept Izaya close during their escape, how he had embraced him with his last drop of energy before waiting for death, so he just muttered: "Nothing." 

When Izaya nodded and closed his eyes, breath slowing down as sleep overcame him, Shizuo couldn't stop himself from questioning how Izaya was handling what happened to both of them \-- the fire, Shizuo being so weak as to not being able to kill him, and then holding him in his arms during their escape. 

Shizuo could sense that there was something different in the flea's behavior, leading him to assume that Izaya, too, was struggling against the reality of facts. Even if he tried with all his efforts to act like an asshole, his trademark provocations had lost a bit of their bite, despite being annoying--

_ Izaya asked me to kill him. _

After that strange request and some time to reflect, Shizuo couldn't doubt it anymore -- the consequences of what happened in that hell of a night affected them both. The irony of fate was that even if they shared the tragedy, they couldn't sustain each other. Mutual support was a natural thing for people who share the same traumatic experience, right? Wrong, at least here. It didn't apply to them at all. The hatred was just too deeply rooted, the pride too strong to allow them to break down and let tears flow freely in each other's arms – the thought was laughable. 

Shizuo looked at the ruby eyes, now closed, hidden under raven-black bangs that smelled of lavender and flea. Izaya was graceful, sleeping curled up as though he was a lonely cat -- just like the one who had followed Shizuo tonight.

No. Izaya was strong, indestructible like a cockroach and impossible to catch -- both his back and thoughts were always too far from Shizuo's grasp. 

_ I don't know what there's in his head.  _

_ I don't know how he's handling what happened to us. _

_ No... _

_ Izaya asked me to kill him,  _ he repeated to himself for the umpteenth time today. __

_ He wants to die, like I do. _

Shizuo didn't understand him and probably never wouldbut, until Izaya asked him to fulfill their pact,they would share a safe place to live, along with loneliness and the desire to die.Right now, they shared the road to reach their destinations, their targets. At the end of their lives, when this giant game of connect-the-dots ended, they would find images, or maybe just tangles, Izaya's surely different from Shizuo's, but for the last dots, their lines would run close to each other. 

There were only few lampposts left before the end, and it was too dark for Shizuo to see Izaya's face -- and thoughts -- clearly enough to not perceive him like one of the threats scattered across the road. 

He didn't trust him. Izaya was too strong, too dangerous, too cryptic.And yet, as he looked at him one last time before falling asleep, Shizuo felt reassured. __

_ Follow the lampposts' lights, connect the dots -- he's beside you. _

_ He's here. _


	9. The joke is on you

Shizuo stomped out of the bathroom rubbing his hair dry with a towel, only to find that Izaya hadn't shifted so much as an inch; he was still curled up in the same corner of the bed he had been in when Shizuo awoke. Yesterday night, they fell asleep facing each other but, at some point during the night, Izaya had turned, and Shizuo woke to a back far away from him. 

"Flea, wake up."

"Hmm... Don't wanna," Izaya drawled, curling up and covering his face with the sheets.

"Come on, louse," Shizuo said, approaching him. "We agreed last night, remember?" 

"We didn't agree. Go outside on your own." 

"Don't act like a brat, come out already."

"Let me ask you just one thing," Izaya hissed from under the sheets. "How do you intend to get me outside? Are you such a paramecium brain that you haven’t even noticed I'm unable to walk?"

Shizuo grabbed the sheets and pulled, grinning when Izaya curled up even more and tried to hide his face in the pillow.

"Iiiizaaaayaaaa-kuuuun, waaaake-uuuup!" 

"Shut up," Izaya replied. "I said I don't wanna \-- wait, what are you -- LET ME GO!"

 

Izaya squirmed and kicked and scratched the man who had just grabbed and lifted him without his consent but, even if he was sure he had hit the other more than once, he was sadly aware he had no chance against someone as monstrous as Shizuo. The struggle's result was limited to a slightly pissed off Shizuo and stings of pain from his injured knee and wrists. In a nutshell, it was a failure. 

"Be quiet now," Shizuo said. 

"Shizu-chan, at the very least, don't carry me bridal style!"

"Stop complaining."

Shizuo nudged the bathroom door with the tip of his toe, opening it to allow both of them to pass.

"Now you're gonna wash off that flea stink you have," he uttered in a governess-like tone of voice as he put a still completely dressed Izaya on the shower seat. "I’ll prepare breakfast."

Shizuo headed toward the door growling: "And make it fast!" before Izaya cleared his throat and stopped him. Shizuo was right on the threshold when Izaya said,

"Um, Shizu-chan?"

"WHAT'S THE MATTER NOW?"

Izaya clicked his tongue. "Shizu-chan is really an idiot, ne? How am I supposed to wash myself alone?" he said, eyeing the shower jet, way too high for his arm to reach. 

"Hah?!"

"I can't stand up and _you_ sprained my wrists, remember? I can't get the bandages wet."

Shizuo replied with a bitter, mocking laugh. "Very funny, Izaya-kun! And how did you wash yourself yesterday, hah?"

"Shinra did it."

"Eh?"

A flush of embarrassment spread across Shizuo's cheeks. When hazel eyes widened like a deer caught in the highlights, Izaya couldn't restrain his giggles anymore.

"Honestly, I would have never pegged you as a _prude_ , Shizu-chan," Izaya said, shrugging. "It can't be helped, we’ll have to wait for Shinra. We'll go out another time--"

"No."

"... What?"

"I'll do it," Shizuo said. "Tell me how to do it."

"Eh? Are you sure? It's better if we wait--"

"Of course I'm sure!" Shizuo interrupted him. "You've got nothing that I don't already have, after all! I-It's not that I'm gettin' all embarrassed over a--"

Shizuo's throat bobbed as he swallowed soundly. Izaya filled the sentence.

"A dick?"

Izaya found it _incredibly_ funny how the usually foulmouthed  Shizuo's jaw dropped and his ears became flushed at the word, just like a maiden. Shizuo was contradictory, and so unpredictable sometimes Izaya felt his control slip through his fingers. Even now, Izaya had his chin tilted up when the little, vicious smile of superiority vanished from his face, because a still completely clothed Shizuo had just joined him in the shower.

"What now?" Shizuo asked him, his voice deep.

Izaya smirked. Despite the beast’s regained composure, the daring look into those hazel eyes couldn't hide the tension in Shizuo's features, the slight blush on his cheeks, the way his fingers ran down the back of his head. It was time for Izaya to play a bit.

"I don't know how you shower, but I'm used to washing myself _naked_."

Amusement filled him to the brim as he observed how red Shizuo's face was now. Izaya tilted his head back to rest against the shower tiles, looking Shizuo straight in the eye and playing with the tone of his voice, making sure it was hushed and as sultry as possible when he murmured:

"Undress me, Shizu-chan..."

Izaya half-closed his eyes, savoring how delicious victory against his monster would be; he couldn't win against Shizuo in strength, but he could surely prevail in self-confidence. 

Shizuo's fingers were hesitant when they grabbed the hem of the black shirt Izaya wore. It was a challenge, and Izaya was determined to do everything to win. He couldn't refrain from wondering how many provocations Shizuo could stand or, better, what were the boundaries of his tolerance, because he had just to surpass them.

Izaya sensed Shizuo jolt when knuckles brushed his own skin, the touch warm, hard and sudden, trembling just slightly at the contact. Izaya wondered if he should pretend to moan -- because it would be funny witness Shizuo imploding out of embarrassment-- but no, that was without any doubt way over Shizuo's tolerance and Izaya didn't want their game to end yet -- not so soon, at least. 

Not when it was so amusing.

 

When Shizuo took a quick, involuntary glance at Izaya's now naked torso, his eyes glanced over and disregarded the healing cuts laying across his arms and chest and stomach in a multitude of scarlet lines. Instead, he noticed how thin, lithe and graceful Izaya was, nowhere near as scrawny as Shizuo had always depicted him in his fantasies of vengeance. Indeed, there was strength hidden under the white skin, made of quick nerves and well-toned muscles, ready to spring in action at will. Even though Izaya's face could have been somehow feminine with its delicate features, his body radiated a purely masculine -- and dangerous -- charm.

From the way Izaya's lips crooked up, Shizuo wondered if the flea had managed to sense his thoughts.

"Now, my pants."

Shizuo's gaze shifted to focus on an indefinite spot of the light-blue tiles or on the floor, never on Izaya, when his hands grabbed the hem of his pants, underwear included. Izaya began humming under his breath, softly, probably just to regain Shizuo's attention, but the blonde was so embarrassed he didn't dare to look neither at the other man’s ruby eyes, nor at his body. Shizuo knew he had to sacrifice something in order to win against the louse -- he chose cockiness.

He lowered Izaya's pants, slowly, and discarded them on the floor where the black shirt lay. His eyes shut the awkward situation out, but he _felt_ everything -- toned quadriceps, hairless and velvet skin, the slightly roughness of gauze. Shizuo swore that Izaya's muscles tensed when his hands slid across the bandages covering the burns, but he convinced himself it must have been just an illusion, because Izaya's voice was smooth and relaxed and _so-fucking-self-confident_ when he whispered: 

"Shizu-chan..."

Shizuo froze, heartbeat hammering in his chest.

"Ne, Shizu-chan, why are you so embarrassed?"

Shizuo gritted his teeth, head turned sideways, because he was asking the same thing to himself. He was a man too and he had spent years in the Army where privacy had always been a superfluous luxury. He had seen plenty of naked men, and it had never been an issue for him. Perhaps, he tried to reassure himself, his cheeks, his ears, his whole body felt burning hot because he had never undressed one -- furthermore, this man wasn't a random one.

For one moment, Shizuo evaluated the possibility of giving up and leaving Izaya here, naked and unable to walk, waiting for Shinra alone. He needed to go outside for a long walk and clear from his thoughts how he reacted to this unsettling situation. But no, he wouldn't run away, because the idea didn't taste sweet like victory, but rather felt like he was raising the white flag -- and he would _never_ permit that when it came to the flea.

This time, when Shizuo tilted his chin up to face Izaya, he didn't avert his gaze. Hazel eyes reflected Izaya's scarlet ones, which now resembled pools of blood rippled with sadistic pleasure -- they were beautiful, yes, but dreadful nonetheless. 

Izaya clicked his tongue and responded to the gaze by parting his legs.

Shizuo's frail determination faltered as he involuntary looked down at the pale and smooth skin of Izaya's flat stomach, following the thin trail of black hair that started under his navel and ended around the base of his half-hard cock. 

Shizuo felt his mouth go dry.

 

Izaya was certain he had already reached and surpassed Shizuo's limit. It was just a matter of time before Shizuo would run out of the bathroom, and Izaya didn't care to wait alone for Shinra to come. 

Instead, Shizuo proved to be unpredictable as always, and he grabbed the shower jet, turning the water on.

"Fuck, it's cold!" Izaya hissed, closing his eyes when water hit his head and face and chest.

"I think cold water is what you need to take care of that -- of that --"

"Boner?"

"DAMN!"

_ May cold water it be.  _ If it was another insignificant sacrifice, the price to pay to make Shizuo admit defeat, Izaya would have paid without complaining (though not without getting even). Izaya relaxed his features and parted his lips. He even wondered if he should go so far as to force himself to touch Shizuo, to trace his biceps with his own fingertips, just to feel him shudder into the touch like yesterday when he had brushed the bandage on Shizuo's neck. 

When he reached out, instead of Shizuo's arm, under his fingers' pads Izaya felt the soft cotton of Shizuo's shirt and, through it, the outline of his chest, strong, warm, pulsing with a racing heartbeat that matched Izaya's own.

Shizuo reacted instantly, grabbing a fistful of wet black hair from the back of his head. A choked cry escaped Izaya's lips when Shizuo pulled, harshly, making him bare his neck. 

"Oi. Don't joke with me."

Even without looking, Izaya knew how strong and dreadful Shizuo's eyes were, how ragged his breath was as he tried to contain his anger. It fanned across Izaya’s lips through the rivulets of water, and shuddered through the palm now pressed on Shizuo's chest, nails digging onto the flesh, half holding on, half trying to reciprocate the pain.

And yet he laughed, choking on the water still pouring on his face.

"But this is nothing but a joke \-- and you know it, don't you, Shizu- _chan_?"

Shizuo didn't reply nor react to the emphasis Izaya put on the honorific of mocked intimacy, he just turned off the shower jet and shifted away from Izaya's touch. Shizuo's hand wasn't threaded in his hair anymore, but Izaya could still feel the weight of it in sparks of pain flashing through his scalp.

When Izaya opened his eyes, Shizuo's face was scarlet, the corners of his mouth lowered in a pout, eyes dark.

_ Yes, he's finally going away _ , he though.

Shizuo flinched.

_ Go away, leave me alone. _

But Shizuo didn't run away, he seized a lilac package instead. He poured an _enormous_ amount of shampoo on the palm of his hand and began spreading it on raven locks. Lavender scent filled the air, and  Izaya found himself standing still, indulging in the touch of Shizuo's fingers in his hair. Before Shizuo had tried and failed to kill him, Izaya had always believed that the feel of Shizuo's hands on his head would be linked to his imminent death. Instead, for the third time in about as many days, Shizuo touched Izaya's hair without crushing his skull, and every single one of them seemed almost surreal -- the first time the touch was supposed to be for his brother, the second was out of a sense of duty after Shizuo had thrown him against a wall, and the third, now, was for a challenge.

"Close your eyes."

Izaya obeyed. Shizuo's fingers combed his hair when the water jet hit his face once again, washing away the shampoo and leaving behind a sense of bitterness Izaya found hard to wipe away with rationality.

"What now?" Shizuo asked him once the foam had been removed from black hair. 

"Soap. And that sponge," Izaya replied, deadpan, before he closed his eyes and rested his head against the tiles. 

"Keep your eyes closed."

Breath shuddered out of his lips, scarlet eyes darting open, when a gentle, hesitant hand brushed his own cheek.

"I said to keep your eyes closed," Shizuo said, irritated.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm washing your face, idiot. Close your eyes, Izaya."

Instead, Izaya kept his eyes open and frowned.

"God, flea! Do you want that fucking sandpaper sponge on your face, hah? 'Cause that’s no problem for me!"

Black eyelashes fluttered and closed, shutting out the image of that annoyed face in front of him. 

"Good," Shizuo said, softly.

Izaya felt like crying when the touch came back, drawing circles of foam on cheeks and forehead, making his heartbeat speed up and his body feel hot. When fingers brushed the corners of his mouth he was on the verge of telling Shizuo to stop. But he didn't do it, god forbid, he didn't know if their challenge was still open, but he would have never admitted that Shizuo was overstepping the boundary he had built, brick after brick, since he had met him.

Despite how he fought against it, Izaya was conscious of the rise and fall of his chest, of his breathing becoming uneven when Shizuo's fingers traced his jaw before the man slid his palm to the curve of his neck, the touch soft and uncertain, the soap offering no friction, making fingertips glide down toward his chest.

Fingernails dug into the wood of the shower seat, in an attempt to make that pain numb the warm touch of Shizuo's fingers. Izaya swore they were driven by nothing but sympathy; the gentleness in them wiped away the hope there would still be something, _anything_ of the pure hate that had always bound  Shizuo to him. When Shizuo's hands at least stopped, Izaya breathed a sigh of relief.

When his eyes opened again, in front of him, Shizuo's cheeks were red. They were as flushed to the tips of his ears under still damp blond hair, as dark pink as his lips, and almost as scarlet as the tongue in his open mouth. His eyes were wide open too, eyebrows drawing thin wrinkles on his forehead. The ridiculous expression, seemingly frozen in place, drew a laughter from the back of Izaya's throat, because a shocked Shizuo was a funny Shizuo, a _very_ funny--

_ \-- Eh? _

When he understood _what_ Shizuo was gazing at, between his own naked thighs, Izaya felt the same hotness on his face.

He was shamefully hard.

Despite the shock, Shizuo's hands were still right below his collarbones, washing away his self control and leaving him exposed, because now, not only had the beast seen how Izaya's body reacted to his touch, but Shizuo could also feel his heartbeat, frantic, loud like drums, like steps on a wooden floor--

The bedroom door opened. 

His pulse beat faster across Shizuo's fingers because he could hear steps, _approaching_ steps on the wooden floor -- _Shinra_ _,_ Izaya thought. _The door is still--_

"Hello Izaya-kun, how are y--"

 

When Kishitani Shinra peeked through the bathroom door left open, his first thought was that Shizuo was _just_ showering Izaya. Then, words died in his throat like somebody had just punched him straight in the chest. Finally, he felt _shame_ , amplified by the awareness that his expression mirrored the ones of the two men in the shower. Because Izaya was -- _well, at least he's fine._

"Uh, I-I'm s-sorry! It wasn't my intention interrupt you! Um, what can I say -- Have fun!" he managed to splutter out, eventually. 

As soon as he turned to hide his flushed face, he heard two voices at his back, shouting in unison: 

"IT'S NOT WHAT YOU THINK!" 

*

"Nothing happened!"

"Absolutely nothing!"

They both kept repeating it after Shinra ran out of the room in spite of their attempts at explaining that this wasn't foreplay at all, that was -- _what was that?_

_ "I’m leaving you some cash, I think you might need some -- ahem -- stuff!" _ Shinra had shouted from downstairs. _"Use it however you want! Shizuo-kun, take good care of Izaya-kun but pay attention, he's still injured! Bye bye \-- make good choices!"_

When Izaya took the money and put it in pants’ pockets, Shizuo wondered if it was more appropriate to leave the money on the kitchen table where Shinra had left it. It was obvious what kind of _stuff_ Shinra had in mind when he gave them all those bills and it didn't seem right to Shizuo use the doctor's money to buy something else. The thought kept tormenting him, even when he walked down the slope toward the village, holding the handlebars of the wheelchair where Izaya sat.

"It's Shinra who misinterpreted it!" Izaya said for the umpteenth time, shrugging as if the topic didn't matter to him anymore. 

Of course Shinra hadn't understood the situation -- he was only washing Izaya, right? And yet, thinking was a pain, because he couldn't erase from his thoughts the fall of translucent water over ivory white skin, the contrast between it and his own tanned hands, Izaya's heartbeat and his own, and Izaya was -- and _he_ \--

"Damn right! Nothing happened!"

"Nothing at all!" Izaya repeated, his voice slightly more high-pitched than usual.

"Um, by the way, flea... Shouldn't we give Shinra the money back?"

"Again, Shizu-chan?" Izaya turned to look at him, his brows furrowed. "I've already told you why we're going to spend it!"

"But we're not gonna buy… _that_ stuff, flea."

"Of course not!"

"So, um, I don't think it's right to use it..."

Izaya exhaled, soundly. "Listen, Shizu-chan," he said, articulating each word like he was talking to a stubborn child. "He didn't say we had to buy those things, ne? He said _use it as you like_! And we're going to use it as we like! Understand?"

Since Shizuo didn't reply, Izaya rolled his eyes and tried again.

"Listen," Izaya said, turning once again so they were facing each others. "Did he _explicitly_ tell us to use the money to buy condoms? Eh? Did he say: go and buy lube?"

Shizuo felt his cheeks hot. "Well, he didn't exactly say that..."

"So..." Izaya waved his hand to prompt him to finish the sentence by himself.

"We can use it as we like -- right?"

"Right! That's the point!" Izaya said, clenching the wheelchair armrest, excited like a child. "Ne, ne, Shizu-chan! How are we going to use it?" When Shizuo didn’t answer, Izaya prodded again, ”Ne, ne, what do you want to do?" 

Shizuo frowned, trying to stop worrying about the money long enough to figure out what he needed. "Breakfast," he said after a moment. "Since I didn’t make any."

"Right!"

Shizuo instinctively drew his upper body away from that strange, overexcited flea. But it wasn't so bad, he thought, he could still tolerate that kind of behavior. "Something tasty for lunch," he mumbled.

"Yes, yes!"

"Sunglasses."

"I want a furry coat! And a phone!"

"Hah?! We haven't enough money for that shit! And it's summer, Izaya! You don't need a fucking furry coat."

Izaya pouted, folding his arms across his chest. 

"Smokes," Shizuo muttered.

"Eeeeh? That _shit_ , to use your foul, infantile wording, is going to kill you sooner or later, you know?"

"You should be happy, flea."

"Do as you like," Izaya said, shrugging. Tipping his head back to look at Shizuo through piercing crimson eyes, he added: "But if you buy cigarettes, I'm going to buy a switchblade. I'd like to have as much of a chance to kill you as they have."

Izaya grinned, before focusing back on the slope ahead of them, replying to Shizuo's growls by humming under his breath.

Shizuo's mood didn't get better when they arrived in the village centre. Indeed, people began scrutinizing them. While Shizuo basked in irritation, sending suspicious stares left, right and centre, Izaya greeted every passerby with a dazzling smile, a bow and some kind words. With some of them, he even flaunted his abilities as smooth talker by having a whole conversation. A shocked Shizuo witnessed how the villagers' expressions changed in response to Izaya's kindness, smiling and bowing back to him, or stopping to wish him a speedy recovery. 

A vein popped on Shizuo's forehead when a pair of teenage girls stopped Izaya after he had greeted them, to ask him his telephone number and if they could see him again. Izaya's cloying courtesy made his stomach churn, but succeeded in inducing a violent blush on both the girls' cheeks.

"Don't mind him," Izaya chirped when the girls drew back at the intimidating expression on Shizuo's face. "His bark is worse than his bite."

"Hah?! What did you say?!" Shizuo shouted, making the frightened girls run away, rushing their last goodbye to Izaya. 

"You scared them. What did they make to deserve your anger, Shizu-chan?"

"I'm not angry with them, you lousy flea! You're so kind because you have something shady in mind for them, don't you!?"

Izaya didn't reply. He just murmured "Hmm, this place is really nice." 

Talking with the girls had distracted him, but now he realized they had just reached a small square, with a tree in a stone flowerbed. Ignoring Shizuo's growls at his back, Izaya tilted his chin up to trace with his gaze the decorative moldings and elaborate iron gratings adorning the windows of what seemed a luxury hotel. 

"I like it," he concluded, casting one last glance before a silent and _strangely quiet_ Shizuo put the brakes on the wheelchair and walked off, alone, leaving Izaya behind.

"Still angry, Shizu-chan? You know, it's not fair leaving me here unable to move on my own. If you just planned to go for a stroll by yourself you could have avoided all that fuss you made this morning. At least take responsibility for ruining my beauty sleep and keep me entertained."

"Gonna come back soon," Shizuo mumbled as he walked away, hands in his pockets.

Izaya clicked his tongue, half grinning. His eyes were closed, ears focused on the sound of Shizuo's steps on the cobblestone when he said: "I remind you that _I_ am the one who has the money."

With that, the sound stopped.

When Shizuo returned to the wheelchair and extended his right hand, Izaya flaunted one of his best smirks and shook his head, slowly. "Don't waste your time trying to explain me why you need the money," Izaya purred. "I won't give it to you unless I can see what you're buying. After all, we have to share it." Izaya tilted his chin up and added, whispering: "Too bad, ne?"

Shizuo reacted immediately, leaning closer to Izaya, probably to grab the money regardless of Izaya’s opinions on the matter. Izaya didn't take time to process what Shizuo intended to do, he raised his voice instead, speaking so loudly that some passerby stop walking to look at them.

"Shame on you! Are you trying to steal money from an injured man on a wheelchair? Good God, you're the worst!"

After the initial shock, Shizuo turned his head sideways and blushed like a shy maiden at the villagers' scandalized and worried faces. Then, he looked at Izaya straight in the eye and muttered incomprehensible insults under his breath. When he eventually stomped to Izaya's back and grabbed the handlebars, growling like an angry dog, Izaya tilted his head back to greet him with a smile glittering with triumph.Not that Izaya liked being in the monster's company, of course, but pissing Shizuo off always proved to be a source of fun. 

It wasn't just a coincidence that Shizuo had escorted him to a place filled with the scent of baked sweets, and once they reached a glossy window with an old-fashioned sign above, Izaya had the final proof -- Shizuo wanted to leave him behind to spend all their money on his favorite food. Izaya was well informed about Shizuo, (though many things could and did still surprise him); at the very least, he knew what things the former soldier liked the most. He wasn't one of them, but sweets surely were. 

Behind the glass, Izaya spotted a thin woman with round glasses and wavy black hair, not beautiful, but still rather pretty. She smiled at them. As the woman approached the main door, Izaya noticed she was older than them -- _mid thirties_ , he thought.

"Shizuo-san!"

_ Oh. _

"Um, good morning, Kyouko-san!"

Casting a sidelong glance at Shizuo, Izaya put two and two together.

Back in the Military Academy, Orihara Izaya had collected the most information about Heiwajima Shizuo he possibly could -- in every possible way. He was used to bribing plenty of people -- comrades, doctors, nurses and even lunch servers -- with the intent of gathering all of the information he could about the blond fighting doll, his sworn enemy. Sun Tzu, the Chinese military strategist and philosopher and one of Izaya’s favorite historical figures, once said _"If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles"_ and Izaya, being a strategist himself, agreed with all his heart. 

A comrade once told him that while Shizuo didn't seem interested in girls of his same age or younger, he had a soft spot for the _older sister_ type. Back then,  Izaya had split his sides laughing at the idea of that dumb beast blushing over an older woman and set the information aside, because he couldn't blackmail him over a type of girl; he needed there to be a girl in the flesh. Now, years later, a dusty drawer opened in his mind and the information just flowed out. As soon as he remembered it, Izaya made an enormous effort to avoid having a devilish smirk stretched his lips.

"Is he a friend of yours?" the bespectacled woman asked, smiling at Izaya.

"Um, he's Izaya," Shizuo mumbled. "Izaya, this is Kyouko-san."

"Pleased to meet you, Izaya-san."

"My pleasure," Izaya replied, bowing his head as elegant and polite as he would have with a military superior.

"We're here to buy something for breakfast," Shizuo muttered, and Izaya couldn't miss the slight blush tinting his ears. "Oi, Izaya. What do you want to eat?"

"Hmm, anything not sweet will be fine."

As soon as they crossed the threshold into the bakery, Shizuo released the handlebars of the wheelchair and headed, stomping, toward the croissants. Izaya observed him shifting his weight from one foot to another and bending his back to evaluate from a closer distance which flavor choose. 

Shizuo gave the barest hint of a nod and Izaya chuckled. _Such a child he is_ , he thought. When the blond monster walked toward the cakes, Izaya chirped: "Shizu-chan, choose one thing only."

"Hah?! Why?!"

"Because we have a lot of things to buy, we can't spend all our money on sweets, protozoan."

If they had been alone, Shizuo would have surely gritted his teeth and tried to punch him. Instead, despite the slight quiver of a blond eyebrow, he just said: "Um, for me a chocolate croissant."

"I would like a cheese bread, thanks."

Izaya’s scarlet gaze observed how the beast followed every single movement she made to gather the food they decided to purchase. She was _so average_ and, somehow,  Izaya felt disappointed, even if he recognized there was a pleasant grace in the way she moved and spoke. And her _words_ , which were so kind that Shizuo wouldn't ever feel annoyed by them.

Izaya handed the money to Shizuo and observed patiently as the two chatted about the wound on Shizuo's neck ( _that's already healed, such a monster he is_ ). 

Shizuo behaved in such a shy way that, more than once, Izaya found himself on the verge of exploding in a burst of laugher. Shizuo didn't smile, his voice was barely more than a whisper, and his arms remained tensed at his sides. Izaya couldn't find the expression on his face more opposed to the one he had carved in his mind, the one that immediately reminded him of his monster -- Shizuo roaring, grinning devilishly as he chased him with outstretched hands. 

_ He is completely tamed. _

His fingers closed into fists and a smirk reached his crimson eyes.

*

"Hair dye."

Izaya frowned when a package with the picture of a smiling blond lady landed on his lap.

"The roots are beginning to show," Shizuo muttered under his breath as he pushed the wheelchair through the narrow aisles of a minimart they had found few moments before. 

"Hmm, I need a book," Izaya said, looking around while he fiddled with the food package containing the two sandwiches they decided to buy for lunch. It was a rather unrefined choice, yes, and if they hadn't such a ridiculously low budget Izaya would have chosen sushi instead, preferably eaten while sitting in a classy restaurant with air conditioning, and not on some bench facing the sea as Shizuo would likely insist on. 

"Oh, there they are! Turn, Shizu-chan, turn!" 

When they reached the tiny bookshelf, Izaya pouted. 

"What's the matter?" Shizuo asked him. "Just buy one."

"Sure," Izaya said, turning to cast Shizuo a mocking glance. "Which one do you suggest?"

As Shizuo looked at the covers, a slight blush spread through his cheeks because, children’s books aside, the only literature the minimarket had to offer was cheap erotica.

"Fuck you."

Izaya grinned. 

"Let's go for crosswords, then."

A black and white magazine flopped on Izaya's lap an instant later. 

"Now?" 

"Sunscreen!"

"Couldn't you say it when I bought the dye, hah?! Now we have to go back!"

Izaya began laughing when Shizuo sped up the pace, stomping on the ceramic tiles. "Faster, faster!" He shouted, clapping his hands despite the stings of pain from his injured wrists.

After being scolded by the shopkeeper for running in the aisles and paying for their food, they came out from the shop with a vinyl bag and headed toward the nearest tobacco shop. There were still some things they needed to buy, switchblade included, even if they had already spent most of the money. When they arrived at the shop, Izaya exhaled bitterly at the sight of the steps leading to the entry door.

"I can carry you."

Izaya shook his head, waving his hand to make him go alone. "I'll wait here."

Shizuo disappeared over the threshold and Izaya exhaled once again, out of boredom this time. Then, he began searching for something in the bag to keep himself busy. His fingers caught on the cheap plastic of Shizuo's new sunglasses; they were similar to the ones Shizuo was used to wear before the night of the fire -- light blue lenses and thin, metallic frame. Surely he had lost them back in the camp, along with the other presents his little brother was prone to giving him. 

Izaya put the sunglasses on, and tipped his head so it rested against the seatback. Above him, in the portion of sky framed by the eaves, innocent clouds seemed perfectly still in the absence of wind. The sight made him so sleepy his eyes drifted shut.

His heartbeat caught in his chest as he was reminded of the intensity of Shizuo's gaze and the feel of his fingers sliding down Izaya’s neck. If Shinra hadn’t appeared out of the blue, making him lose the impressive erection Shizuo had managed to give him with just with few caresses, Shizuo would have never finished to washing him (with the s _andpaper sponge_ from then on, thankfully) without dying from shame or, far worse, making Izaya lose his impeccable self-control. 

Did Shizuo intend to wash him tomorrow too? And the day after, until his wrists healed? 

"The joke is on you," he whispered to himself. What had started as a game, ended up leaving him vulnerable. It unsettled him, how Shizuo ended up uncovering a side of him so human and instinctive and powerful he wanted to bury it inside of himself forever. 

Hence, there was no time to lose.

Gathering information was what he needed to do. Shinra, and even the beast's boss, from what he had learnt yesterday evening, and who knows how many other people in this village, must know something about _Dullahans_. Until his wrist healed and he was able to walk by himself, he would keep his ears and eyes on alert -- on the world around him, and on himself as well.

And even if that plan failed, and Dullahans proved to be nothing more than legends, he still had a back-up plan: Shizuo would kill him. A hint of a smile stretched his lips as he realized how under control everything was, all perfectly planned, as always.

He was pulled from his train of thought when something small landed on his lap, followed by warm fingers brushing his temples to pull the sunglasses' metallic frame away from his ears. In front of him, Shizuo already had a cancer stick hanging from his lips. He put the sunglasses on and muttered something Izaya recognized as: "Switchblade."

Izaya looked down at the tiny object on his lap and furrowed his brows.

"Shizu-chan, you idiot, ask the money back! This is not a switchblade, this is a Swiss Army knife!"

"So what?"

The knife's handle was covered by a cheap, black plastic with microscopic glitter. The corners of Shizuo's mouth stretched with a hint of a smirk when Izaya said: 

"And it's for children!"

Pouting, Izaya checked the weight of the object and then, snorting, pulled out the blade. The grip sat poorly in his hand, and the balance was awful. Then, he tested the blade sharpness, sliding on his thumb's pad.

"I can barely cut butter with this crap, much less your monstrous skin."

"Of course, it's made for children! But look--"

Shizuo kneeled down in front of him, and Izaya winced when the stink of smoke hit his nostrils. Gently, Shizuo took the knife from Izaya's hands and started to extract the tools hidden in the handle.

"Look, there's a LED light hidden here."

Shizuo's voice was so calm and relaxed Izaya wondered if tobacco had become a sedative to the beast's nerves. One black eyebrow lifted as Shizuo switched on the tiniest torch Izaya had seen in his whole life. 

_ Totally useless. _

"And then, corkscrew!"

Izaya rolled his eyes, but still let him proceed, half out of curiosity, half to study Shizuo's calmness from such proximity.

"Look, Izaya. There's a pair of scissors and a nail file! It's so useful!" Shizuo said, putting the knife back in Izaya's hands.

"Oh, that's very useful," Izaya replied, flatly. It looked like Shizuo hadn't got the sarcasm because, when hazel eyes lifted to look back at him, they brimmed with pride and excitement. 

_ God, this beast is such a child. _

"Oi Izaya, where do you wanna go now?"


	10. Echoes

Izaya just couldn't comprehend the reason for interest in such a constant landscape, forsaken by human beings -- an infinite row of wooded hills at his left, the sea rimmed by a thin strip of sand at his right, enveloped in an utter silence broken only by the bustle of seagulls, the sound of waves, and wheels rolling on asphalt. The scenery had been the same since the well refined buildings of the village centre became farmstead, then lone houses, and finally abandoned shacks, until trees engulfed every trace of human constructions except the road under his feet. The smell of tar burned by the midday sun clogged his nostrils along with the saltiness carried by the air and the stink of smoke. He turned up his nose at the stench.

As soon as he had been distanced from the shadows projected by the rows of houses and people's voice, a sense of unease nestled in his chest, making his fingers twitch across the coarse leather of the armrest. It wasn't a feeling unknown to his heart; he diagnosed it as nostalgia for the traffic-congested lanes that offered a full display of different behaviors and personalities. Here, as far as his eyes could see, there was nothing worth his interest, nothing to distract him from self-analysis until the road turned, disappearing behind a peninsula. 

Assuming the discomfort must have been induced by boredom, Izaya imposed calm on his thoughts and racing pulse. There was no justification for the grip he felt on his heart and the shiver running down his spine, as though his instincts had sensed something his eyes had not. In his mind, he repeated that there was nothing ominous in the surroundings -- no menacing clouds on the horizon, no waves that could reach him and make him drown, no soldiers with rifles ready to kill him.

There were just hills, the sea, and the road. 

_ There's nothing dangerous here. I'm safe.  _

And yet, he couldn't shake off the sensation that traveling through this place felt like being on another planet, a linear, infinite world made of lack of time and infinite solitude. His beloved humans were miles, light years, parsecs at his back -- there was a cosmic void between him and them now.

He wanted to go back.

Rational thoughts were slippery, faint like whispers compared to his instinct screeching that his life was in danger. 

He _needed_ to go back.

"Shizu-chan?" he asked, turning his head just enough to see a tanned hand holding the handlebar of the wheelchair where he sat, to test if the other man was still right behind him. 

"Hmm?"

"Where are we going?"

Izaya waited for an answer but, for a long instant, from behind him came only the sound of sneakers on asphalt and exhalations of puffs of smoke. 

In the end, a quiet voice replied: "I would like to discover it." 

Even if Shizuo had given a name to their destination, that wouldn't have changed anything. Because Izaya couldn't understand his words anymore, already unable to focus on anything else beside the deafening sound of his heartbeat echoing in his skull, turning his orderly thoughts into white noise. When the pounding of his heart began hammering at his ribcage, squeezing oxygen out of his lungs, his fingers clutched the shirt he wore, trying to break skin, flesh and bone to let air flow freely in and out of his chest. He would die, he was sure of it, because he couldn't remember how to breathe anymore or, perhaps, in this world there wasn't air to breathe anymore, just a void so cold it left his body and mind a shivering mess. 

Wheels stopped turning and he realized he couldn't escape. The infinite space, the silence around him only increased the sense of asphyxiation. He couldn't run, he could only wait for something -- no, for _the_ _fire_ to reach him. 

Echoes of the primordial fear of death he had felt the night of the attack resurfaced in his mind, shutting out the voice of rationality he was desperately clinging to. When memories blended with reality, even the space surrounding him began to melt with his delusions. Indeed, he perceived Shizuo, kneeling in front of him, as merely an interference in the void that had taken the place of air, then as a flash of yellow across the grey line defining the world where he was trapped, and then, finally, as a sign of his imminent death, because the monster _had_ _come back to kill him_.  Izaya flattened his back against the wheelchair seat, tryingto distance himself from the blond monster; from the depths of his mind, the sensation of Shizuo's palm and fingers squashing his windpipe, Shizuo's husky voice murmuring what he was going to do with him, Shizuo's breath on his earlobe, all resurfaced. 

Izaya closed his eyes and braced himself for flame-bright pain, overwhelming fear, lack of control.

However, this time, Shizuo didn't reach for him. Hands of steel didn't close on Izaya's neck, and even if they had, it wouldn't have changed _anything, anything, anything_. Because he was choking all the same, out of control in the same way. He just couldn't--

"Izaya."

The sound of his name came too loud, his hearing suddenly oversensitive, and the palms of his hands lifted to cover his ears, only to close into fists on his chest again, head lowering, shoulders hunching, in too much pain from the lack of oxygen.

_ This is not one of my nightmares, this is not my past, this is not my mind.  _

_ This is reality.  _

"Izaya, just breathe."

_ I can't. _

"Your chest hurt because you're holding your breath. Breathe."

"Not here," he whispered, so faintly Shizuo had to lean closer to hear him. 

"Is it fine if I touch you?" Shizuo asked him, softly.

Izaya gave the barest hint of a nod. Immediately, Shizuo took him in his arms and slowly lifted him. Izaya jolted at the contact, and then then, with eyes closed shut, he curled his fingers across Shizuo's shirt, hiding his face in the crook of the other's neck when the jarring from Shizuo's body as he moved made the surroundings seem even more terrifying. Izaya found himself mirroring Shizuo in the shallowness of breath, in his muscles tensing, in the beads of sweat on his forehead and back. 

He didn't feel safer now, he wasn't out of danger yet, and his mind could do nothing to prove his instinct was wrong, so he kept shivering, even though Shizuo wasn't moving anymore right now. They sat, somewhere, the darkness surrounding them. 

Shizuo's hold was loose across Izaya's waist, though he turned the smaller man so he rested with his back against Shizuo’s larger chest. He just supported Izaya without hugging him, keeping the lithe, shivering frame between his parted legs. Shizuo didn't tightened the hold, as though he had somehow understood that Izaya couldn't stand being squeezed now or, perhaps, it was just too awkward, a too intimate and affectionate gesture to share with a former enemy. 

Shizuo's breath was calm, despite his frantic heartbeat. Izaya tried to inhale and exhale like him, struggling to imitate the regular rise and fall of his chest. At first, he only managed to breathe so fast his head spun or so slowly his chest hurt. It took him an incalculable amount of Shizuo's breaths, and an even greater amount of his heartbeats, to get in sync with the blond. The sensation of air in his lungs was enough to heal the trembling aches all over his body and to awake the rationality sleeping under the adrenaline induced by fear. 

Izaya still had his eyes screwed shut and buried in the blonde's neck, but that didn't prevent him from sensing the slight tension in Shizuo's arms, hands, and voice when he made Izaya drink water from one of the plastic bottles they bought with Shinra's money. Shizuo was strangely attentive, at first only allowing water to skim Izaya's lips, then making him drink only a little sip each time. He didn't speak or growl when Izaya grabbed the bottle and tilted it up to drink more, only to choke a moment later, fresh liquid trailing down his neck as he coughed. Shizuo didn't snort; instead, he dried Izaya's chin with his thumb. His fingers twitched slightly but he was quiet, just breathing and moving without any sudden actions, as though he had understood they would scare Izaya.

Gradually, fear disappeared. When Izaya regained control over his own body and mind, he found that he still couldn't open his eyes; his eyelids felt too heavy, his limbs worn out, his mind so exhausted that sleep overcame him before he could decipher where Shizuo had carried him. 

 

When his eyes finally opened, he found himself unable to determine how long he had slept.

Above him, there was a clear blue sky framed by leaves. The calm rhythm of someone else's breath across his own back had been replaced with the sound of waves, and the arms embracing him were now warm grains of sand. To his right, a man sat cross-legged, holding a cigarette between his index and middle finger. His brows were knitted, the corners of his mouth lowered and blond hair messy, as if he had ruffled it over and over. The light shone off his sunglasses, concealing whatever his eyes were looking at. Despite the numbness, Izaya groaned:

"You look ridiculous, Shizu-chan." 

Sunrays caught in the man's hair, turning pale yellow into gold when he turned his head sideways to exhale a puff of smoke. Looking unconcerned by Izaya's words, the blonde's voice was calm when he muttered:

"Izaya, has... _that_ already happened to you--?"

"I can't stand so much sun," Izaya interrupted him, lifting himself to sit properly. "That's all. No need to inform Shinra. Well, feel free to tell him if you wanna be scolded harshly, since you brought his patient on a road trip in the middle of nowhere."

Shizuo muttered something under his breath that Izaya didn't catch, because at that moment, the bright light reflecting from sand and sea blinded him, making him hiss. It looked like Shizuo had brought him to the seaside, deserted since the village was miles away. When Izaya's eyes adapted to the light, he found that the angle allowed him to see through Shizuo's sunglasses. 

Under light-blue shades, Shizuo's eyes weren't on him. 

Izaya turned to follow Shizuo's gaze and he discovered it was fixed on the asphalt road they had been walking on, resting above the seven and something feet sheer slope at Izaya's back. More precisely, hazel eyes were directed at the point where the road disappeared beyond a peninsula. Every now and then, Shizuo lowered his head to the vinyl bag he held between his crossed legs, but his gaze always came back to the road; at first only through his bangs, then he tilted his face up, as if he couldn't focus on anything else besides that infinite line of asphalt. As transparent as Shizuo was, it didn't prove to be difficult for Izaya to read his thoughts: 

_ "I wonder where the road leads. What is there, beyond that peninsula? And beyond the next one? How much would I have to walk to reach something?" _

Before Izaya chastised himself for wasting time pondering what could be in the protozoan's head, he wondered if Shizuo was just curious, orif he felt bound by the inability to reach a target, in this case the end of the road they were walking through (despite the fact that if he kept walking, he would have discovered where the road led for sure). Perhaps Shizuo felt he was stuck in a dreamlike delusion, like Izaya before, doubting there would be an end to this road connecting the village with the outside world.

The irony of fate was that Izaya knew the answer to Shizuo's troubles. Once he woke from the hallucinations he had before he fell asleep, Izaya remembered he had seen where the road led in the maps he consulted to plan strategic attacks, and the land had immediately lost all of the surreal aura that made him believe there would never be an end to it. Even if he could give Shizuo an answer, he decided to not say anything, not out of spite, but because that was an answer Shizuo had to discover with his own eyes. 

Suddenly, a movement of air in front of him caught his attention.

_ Eat,  _ the outstretched, tanned arm seemed to say, as it handed him out one of the two sandwiches they bought in the minimart hours before. As he observed a moment later, the other one had already half-disappeared in Shizuo's mouth. __

"Thanks."

Shizuo didn't answer. His gaze went back to alternating from the visible portions of road to on his crossed legs. This time, it wasn't out of embarrassment, like this morning on the shower; it was just a quiet warning to let him alone with his thoughts. So they ate in silence, exchanging short glances whenever Shizuo checked if Izaya's injured wrists could stand the food's weight.

When they both finished their meal, Shizuo passed him the crossword magazine along with a pencil, and lay down on the sand, facing the sun with arms crossed under his head. Izaya caught the instant when eyelashes fluttered with somnolence before his eyes closed, unconcerned by the over-illumination.

Izaya chuckled when he heard a faint snore, and focused his attention on the magazine he held on his lap. While he flipped through the monochromatic pages, he thought that it wasn't so bad, relaxing doing crosswords in the shade of a tree.

Suddenly, sloppy pencil marks caught his attention. 

His head tilted to one side and brows furrowed in irritation, because he had just noticed _his_ magazine had already been used by someone else. Red eyes scanned every puzzle in each page just to realize that there was just one game solved. 

_ Children's corner: Connect the dots _

*

After he solved whole pages of crosswords and filed his nails with the tool in the children’s knife Shizuo gave him, Izaya decided to wake his monster. His wrists hurt, the shade had shifted and he was starting to get annoyed by the sensation of sand in his clothes. He missed their room back in the village. It didn't matter if Shizuo said he looked creepy and reminded him of the movie _Rear Window_ \-- sitting near the window was a perfect place to observe humans.

Izaya cleared his throat, but Shizuo didn't wake.

"Shizu-chan?"

Nothing at all.

"Shizu-chaaaaan?"

Shizuo inhaled deeply and muttered incomprehensible words under his breath, something Izaya recognized as an apology. Then, hazel eyes opened and he groaned,

"What the hell do you want, fucking flea?" 

"Eeeeh, Shizu-chan, right after you wake up you're even less polite than usual!"

"Fuck you," Shizuo drawled as he stretched his limbs. "How longer have I slept?"

"I don't know, an hour and a half? Perhaps we should buy a watch. Or, better, a phone! Ah, binoculars are a _must have_ as well--"

"Damn, I have to go to work," Shizuo interrupted him, his hands ruffling blond strands to wipe away the sand with the leftovers of the drowsiness. Then, with a jerk, Shizuo stood up and moved toward the wheelchair, which was situated by Izaya. The fabric of his shirt stretched around his shoulders and back when he climbed the slope with jumps and big steps, carrying the wheelchair with one hand and the vinyl bag with the other. 

As Izaya observed him, he thought it was _odd_ watching  Shizuo's fast movements from another perspective than the one he was used to – from behind, instead of in the midst of pursuit. It made him feel nostalgic.

Izaya heard him opening the wheelchair and then coming down the slope. In seconds, Shizuo was at his back. 

"You alright?"

"Eh? Ah, yes..."

Shizuo knelt down at his side and grabbed both of Izaya's elbows, in order to wrap them around his own neck. A shiver ran down Izaya's spine when bleached hair tips tickled his arms and he smelled the scent of sun-drenched skin. 

"Now I'm gonna lift you, okay?"

Izaya nodded. Right now, the contact between them was intimate, but Izaya knew there wasn't a single hint of malice in Shizuo's gesture. He wasn't searching for the touch of Izaya's body against his own; every apparently affectionate action he made, like carrying and comforting him like before, was purely out of _kindness_.  Izaya was aware there was a more fitting word, _pity_ , but he refused to accept it, he couldn't even think about it without feeling his heart shattered. He rested his head on the crook of Shizuo's neck, and his eyes closed when one tanned arm passed under bent knees and another encircled his back. Shizuo lifted him with absolutely no effort, holding him tight as he took a run-up to climb the slope.

Even without using his arms, Shizuo's balance was firm, his steps confident despite the incline and the slippery soil. Izaya wasn't surprised. After years during which Shizuo had to measure himself against Izaya's superior agility and speed during their chases, the monster had learnt how to not miscalculate a step if he wanted to keep pace with the smaller man. 

What Izaya felt wasn't nostalgia anymore, but the sensation of bandages across his wrists, and the weight of gauze covering his once flawless skin. Memories of thrilling chases blended to the awareness of the pain induced by Shizuo's hands that no longer felt rough enough, violent enough, passionate enough. It was even more agonizing than the ache of wounded skin, and he couldn't even scratch it off nor forget about -- it was _nauseating_. He wanted to feel untouchable; he felt overwhelmed instead. And yet, there was no way out -- he must control the emotions raging inside the fragile body of his, even if he was already overfilled, because he would never let them master him, _god forbid_. He must keep them buried under the pristine facade of his. It would be so much easier if they just flowed out of him while he kept his masks on, but they weren't like water, transparent and evaporating with the sunrays -- they were viscous, sticky tar in his lungs and mind and soul. They had permanently stained him, spoiling the balance he strived to maintain with all his being.

Before he had fallen asleep, held by the man he hated more than anything and anyone, what had happened to him? 

A smirk stretched his lips and, before he even realized it, he was laughing out the cold, metallic sound of his ego being tore apart by a reality he couldn't ignore anymore.

How could it be that he, Orihara Izaya, had just suffered from a _panic attack?_

*

By the time Shizuo reached the place where the wheelchair rested, the hold around his neck had tightened and he started to sense Izaya's hushed giggles tickling his skin. When a deep growl escaped his lips, the laugh only became louder.

"Flea?"

The hold tightened even more, until Shizuo felt Izaya's shoulder across his own neck and their chests being pressed together. After the initial shock, Shizuo thought that it would have been a hug, a very affectionate hug indeed, if Izaya hadn't chuckled in his usual creepy way. 

Or, perhaps, it was better like this.

No, _surely_ it was better like this, because it would have been way too awkward if  Izaya hadn't giggled at all and had just embraced him ignoring their bond of hate and, now, their bond of death. 

However, even if that strange hug unsettled him, Shizuo decided to let him do. Even if the brush of black hair against his neck and cheek excited goose bumps all over the skin, he let Izaya's arms shift on his back. Unable to think of what to do and too embarrassed to say anything, Shizuo just held him in silence, waiting for his giggles to calm down, as though Izaya was weeping instead. 

Before the tragedy, Shizuo couldn't understand Izaya at all. Or, better, it was the logic under the flea's actions that was a mystery to him. Izaya's reactions had always been obscure to him, his emotions too, so it was impossible for him to feel anything like empathy for the flea. Commiseration? Never. He was aware he hadn't spared Izaya's life because he had pitied him; he was sure he hadn't manage to kill him because he wasn't _strong_ _enough_ to do it. Furthermore, he realized he hadn't carried  Izaya with him during his wandering out of sympathy for his injured body. Shizuo just couldn't stand the loneliness of what he was sure would have been the last voyage of his life. In other words, he hadn't been strong enough to die alone. 

Now, Shizuo _still_ couldn't understand  Izaya at all. He hadn't been hit with a sudden realization that made him able to clearly see the secrets Izaya kept hidden under that mocking face of his. Izaya's masks were just impossible for anyone to pierce unless the man himself broke them from the inside. But when it happened, the cracks stood out everywhere, thin and yet so bad-plastered they had no chance to hide.

He still couldn't understand him, but while Izaya embraced him, laughing like a mad man, Shizuo feared he was feeling the other man shatter in his arms.

The thought crossed his mind as an electric flash, making his head spin -- would he be able to kill Izaya once they left this place? There had already been the right moment to kill him, but he had failed miserably. Now, without the homicidal instinct that drove him to chase the flea to the end of the earth, the thought of killing Izaya alone made his hands powerless, his legs numb and his lungs craving for air. Would he be able to feel Izaya's life slip through his fingers without batting an eyelid? Would his determination not falter when red eyes became unfocused, and every grain of life -- of warmth \-- flowed out of his enemy's body? What would Shizuo's reaction be when Izaya ceased to exist as human being and became just an echo resonating in his memory? 

When Shizuo felt Izaya's fingers clenching his shirt, his own hold tightened in return. 

Izaya must have sensed it, because the laughter died miserably in his throat, leaving them in the eerie silence of this desolate place. 

Shizuo couldn't see what expression was on Izaya's face now, nor could he read the thoughts passing through his mind -- he could only look away from the man and hold him. It was awkward; he couldn't control the twitch of his own fingertips across Izaya's back and legs. It wasn't the first time he kept Izaya close, but during their escape Izaya had been unconscious. Now, Shizuo could feel Izaya clenching his shirt, knuckles pressing so hard into his flesh they seemed driven by anger.

Anger, hopelessness, self-hatred because his strategic plan to destroy the enemy had failed -- perhaps Izaya felt this way; he felt lonely, he felt trapped. But Shizuo had no proof to confirm it, and he could do nothing to discover what was in the flea's brain. He could only stand still, looking ahead toward the direction where he knew the village was, waiting for a sign to put Izaya down, because instinct suggested that Izaya needed time to release the tension from his fingers and to force his chest to stop jerking like he was desperately trying to hold back tears. 

Shizuo thought there would be nothing shameful if Izaya just cried his heart out. He had cried so many times after his little brother died that he had lost count, and he would like to tell Izaya he would hold him the same standard; he wouldn't laugh at him or consider him a less valuable rival if he showed how much what had happened affected him. 

_ "Cry, Izaya, just cry." _

He tasted the words on his tongue, over and over, and every time they sounded an absurd thing to say out loud -- especially to _him_.

When he finally put Izaya down on the wheelchair, not a teardrop glistened on dark eyelashes or pale cheeks. Izaya's scarlet eyes were dry, the tension still raging inside his lithe frame. When their eyes met, Izaya's lips crooked up in a smirk that tasted so bitter, so uncertain, so fake. 

And yet, a few minutes after they headed toward the village, like nothing happened, Izaya tilted his head back and chirped:

"Ne, Shizu-chan!"

The tone of his voice was playful as always, but his fingers still trembled slightly.

"Hmm?"

"Couldn't we go faster?"

"Give me a good reason to do it," Shizuo drawled, inhaling tobacco deep in his throat. He jolted when Izaya suddenly turned, a pout on his face. 

"I'm bored!"

"Hah?! Would you like to walk in my place?!"

"Pleeeease!" 

Shizuo exhaled loudly. "You're such a pain in the ass, louse," he said, stamping the cigarette out under the sole of his sneakers. But, despite his words, Shizuo sped up the pace. 

He didn't run as fast as he could.

He did, however, run fast enough to feel wind in his hair and to see Izaya laughing and spreading his arms, like a bird, to enjoy the breeze.

*

Shizuo stopped running halfway home, when the only sound coming from Izaya was a faint snore. He had a stitch in his side and he was hungry as well. No, hungry was an understatement, he was so famished he would like to eat every morsel of food in Kyouko's shop, even that strange black bread and the one with olives. His stomach rumbled, menacingly, but at least kept him company during the solitary journey. 

Izaya woke up with a jolt in one of the narrow lanes of the village. The louse stretched his limbs, and dared to say, like nothing happened:

"Oh, I took a nap!"

_ Nap? You slept for a fucking eternity! _

Before Shizuo could growl a reply, Izaya shouted: "Look, look!" 

Shizuo followed the finger pointed toward a spot in the lane they were crossing with, but he didn't see anything.

"There's a cat, Shizu-chan! A black one!" Izaya shouted, before he started clicking his tongue to gain said cat's attention. 

As the cat came closer, with his thin tail raised, Shizuo recognized him as the bothersome kitten he met the day before when he came back from work late at night. Instinctively, he drew back. 

"Let's go. It's late," he mumbled and began pushing the wheelchair, but Izaya turned to look at him straight in the eye, grabbing one of his wrists. 

"Please!"

"I said it's--"

"Please, Shizu-chan, one minute only!"

"God, Izaya, you're such a child..."

Nonetheless, the wheels stopped turning, and Shizuo began scratching the back of his head. Izaya didn't respond to the insult, all focused as he was in trying to make the cat come closer. His hand lowered to the ground and he clicked his tongue again, but the cat tottered away.

"Shizu-chan, he went away!"

"You'll meet him again, he usually hangs around here."

Izaya's eyes closed to slits and his chin tilted up. "How do you know it?" 

"I met him yesterday," Shizuo replied, just to add one moment later: "Come on, flea, don't take it personal. Today he has probably better things to do than to be petted, but the next time he won't go away."

"And how do you know he likes to be petted?"

"For fuck's sake, Izaya, don't make me lose it! I couldn't fucking shake him off!"

"Hahaha really? And why didn't you carry him home?"

"ARE YOU MAD? Of course I couldn't bring him home! I couldn't bring him home 'cause--"

Shizuo began ruffling his hair, as he turned his head to avoid that Izaya scrutinized him. "Fear," he muttered in the end.

"Eh? He of you?"

"No, idiot!"

Shizuo tried to ignore Izaya when his jaw dropped and his red eyes became impossibly wide with surprise. But when a laugh escaped the flea's lips, Shizuo felt annoyance stirring up the blood in his veins. 

"Are you serious?!"

"Fuck you."

"Really, how could it be that someone like you fears a kitten?"

Shizuo craved to punch him in the face, and he would have done it, if it wasn't for the undertone of concern in Izaya's voice. It unsettled him. 

"You don't understand, flea."

"Make me."

"Why do you care?"

Izaya exhaled. "Use your head for once, Neanderthal. I'm stuck with you until I can walk on my own and, I'm not a doctor, but I assume I won't be able to do it _tomorrow_ , or the day after." Despite the intimidating sounds coming from Shizuo's gritted teeth, he kept talking. "Of course you will find a way to avoid the cat, since you fear him! So, I must understand the reasons for such unjustified fear and convince your tiny, _tiny_ brain there's nothing to worry about. Is it the claws? Did they tell you when you were a child that they'll gouge your eyes if you pet them? Did they tell you--"

"IZAYA!" It took Shizuo few seconds to convey his thoughts into words and not into feral growls. "Listen, listen carefully and DON'T-FUCKING-TALK until I've finished, okay? And don't you dare laugh at me!"

Izaya waited for the explanation with a cattish grin on his face.

"I fear the effect of my strength on them. What if my control slips, hah? If they get hurt I won't be able to forgive myself, understand?"

"Hmm, I see," the flea said. "But look, you take a good care of me. It's not like every time you carry me I find myself with a broken bone."

Shizuo shook his head, and his gaze fell on Izaya's wrists.

"You were trying to kill me, back then," Izaya replied, quietly.

"But you're strong, they're small and delicate. God, he was almost smaller than my hand, what if I--"

"Stop it already," Izaya said, his voice so calm it left Shizuo gaping and hanging off his words. "You won't hurt him, and tomorrow I'll show you."

After Izaya sent him a last glance that didn't allow for any _but_ , Shizuo began directing the wheelchair back home. However, they didn't even manage to turn the corner when the wheelchair stopped again. When Izaya turned with a questioning look, he almost split his sides laughing. Shizuo's body, indeed, was completely frozen with fear, because the black cat they had seen before was now brushing his small head against the former soldier's calf, purring loudly.

"Ah, here he is! Shizu-chan, he is so small!"

"Fuck, I know!" Shizuo managed to say through gritted teeth. 

Izaya giggled, then he clicked his tongue to beckon the cat's attention. 

Shizuo dared to look down, and exhaled a breath of relief when he noticed the cat seemed more interested in Izaya now. The kitten toddled toward his open hand, and began brushing against Izaya's thin fingers.

Enraptured, Shizuo admired the way pale fingertips moved, delicate as dancers, brushing the scrawny kitten behind his ears and scratching his chin. The kitty closed his amber eyes and surrendered to the skillful ministrations. 

Then, Izaya's eyes were back on Shizuo, the piercing gaze making the blonde's throat bob.

"Come," Izaya mouthed, while his fingers found their way in the soft fur of the kitten's back, petting it.

"Open your hand and relax," Izaya said when Shizuo knelt down at his side. His voice was like velvet, somehow soothing the tension in Shizuo's muscles so he managed to open his right hand.

"Good. Now keep it relaxed, nothing bad is going to happen," Izaya whispered.

When soft fur brushed his fingertips, Shizuo closed his eyes. As soon as his hand began shivering, he regretted ever having believed, even just for an instant, that his hands could be as graceful as Izaya's, no matter if he wanted it with all his being. Of course he would fail, and soon Izaya would laugh at him, reminding him he was a monster. Instead, Izaya's unexpected words "Good, you're doing fine," left him shocked. Through his fingers, now frozen in place, Shizuo sensed how much warmth and pulsing life there was hidden under the fur. 

"He's warm."

Words came out from his mouth wavering, barely more than a whisper.

"He really is," Izaya replied, softly.

"He is so scrawny."

Izaya hummed. "True. We should buy some cat food, ne?"

Shizuo nodded, his eyes still closed. But even if he couldn't see any of what lay beyond his eyelids, he could _sense_ everything. And it was enough. The softness of fur and voice was enough, at least for a first step. Feeling brave, Shizuo's hand shifted from the cat's arched back to the scruff of his neck. 

Here, he found _him_. 

Just for an instant, Izaya's skillful touch was on the back of Shizuo's hand rather than on fur. Even if Izaya's fingers were a firm synergy between bones, muscles and nerves, on his skin, Shizuo sensed just a soft caress of feathers. Izaya drew a linear path, with barely more pressure than the air they were breathing but, immediately after, Shizuo felt it begin to burn like pale fingertips had marked his skin with fire. 

Shizuo drew his hand back. 

When he opened his eyes, Izaya was too intent in petting the kitten to look back at him. Like nothing happened, those fingers kept drawing spiraling paths on fur, like it was their personal canvas. 

"Shizu-chan! We should bring him with us!" Izaya chirped, and Shizuo was almost relieved in hearing the playful undertone in his voice. "Just to give him something to eat!"

Shizuo ruffled his hair violently, his cheeks feeling warmer than usual.

"Okay, okay, we'll give him food and then we'll make him go."

Izaya replied with his usual cattish grin.

"Such a pest you are, flea!"

"Put him on my lap," Izaya said casually, patting his thighs. 

"Like hell I'm gonna do that."

It didn't matter if Izaya complained that his injured wrists prevented him from lifting the cat, Shizuo wouldn't ever do it. Petting a kitten's fur was already something he never thought he would manage to do, and taking a kitten in his arms was way more dangerous. He wasn’t ready. And then, he didn't want to spoil everything when he felt lighthearted, more self-confident and, even if it hurt his pride a bit to admit it, thankful. So he started moving the wheelchair back home, slowly enough for the kitten to follow them, even with his tottering steps. Every now and then, Shizuo paused, waiting, if the cat stopped to look at some bird chirping on the eaves or to sniff the cobblestone, searching for food. It took Shizuo double the usual time to reach the uphill road where their house was. 

Luckily, right at the start of the hill, the scrawny cat jumped on Izaya's lap and began purring and kneadinghis legs. The flea laughed. 

"We should give him a name, ne?" Izaya said. 

Shizuo knew he should reply: _"We're not gonna let him stay, Izaya",_ but he hummed instead. He couldn't explain why he felt so warmed, just as he couldn't understand why he was going to take care of something he feared to hurt so much. 

Probably, it was because Izaya had laughed sincerely. 

Probably, it was because he still felt a bit dizzy and euphoric. It was just a hint, a barely perceptible glimmer he had moved a tiny step forward and, for once, he hadn't brought only destruction. He had just petted a cat without hurting him. In his arms, this afternoon, Izaya had found calm and fallen asleep.

Shizuo could still feel the sensation of holding him. 

It scared him how it didn't feel new at all. After all, he could strive to erase from his memory how he had kept Izaya close during their escape, but his body remembered it just fine -- Izaya's breath, the soft touch of his hair and his presence making Shizuo feel better in return. 

Like echoes, those sensations kept resounding in Shizuo's memory.

And, before he could even realize it, they were already indelible.


	11. Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading thus far *sends you hugs and hearts!* Everyone who sent me reviews, thank you so much. They made me so happy, I really appreciate all of them.

Shizuo really liked his new job as bartender. Even if Tom's pub was sometimes so noisy he couldn't understand orders without getting his head closer and asking the clients to repeat themselves, the music was so good that he found himself tapping his fingers to the beat. Shizuo didn't know the exact reason why he felt at ease bartending. Perhaps it was the sound of ice in the shaker, or the amber color of beer, or the clink of glasses against the marble counter; whatever it was, it let him shut his mind and enjoy people's laughs smiling in return.

In more than one month working in Tom's pub, Shizuo had managed to reduce the number of glasses broken in each shift to zero. He had learned that the clients were all more or less the same, and they all knew each other. Day by day, he began remembering their faces (for their names, he still needed a little more of time) and linking them to their voices and tastes. They even started to greet him with a smile, asking how he was doing when Shizuo handed them a beer mug. To cap it all off, he learned that some shifts made him come back home so tired he had barely the strength to fold his bartender outfit before dashing in bed, the soles of his feet sore, his ears ringing. Other nights were more relaxing, the pub almost empty, and he was left with the energy to take a smoke and scold Izaya for falling asleep while sitting near the window. 

Tonight was one of those evenings.

"Shizuo-kun, it's enough for tonight. Go home and rest!" Tom said since, along with them, there was only Kadota. 

When Kadota didn't play drums, he was sat on the same stool at the counter and, with arms crossed on the marble surface, he ordered his favorite double malt beer. He and Shizuo always greeted each other and exchanged the usual courtesy words, and every now and then they even indulged in longer conversations. Otherwise, they just stood one in front of the other, sometimes for whole shifts, Kadota with his head propped against his hand, listening to the chatter absentmindedly, Shizuo waiting for orders against the shelves, lost in thoughts.

Before Tom dismissed him, Shizuo had been thinking of the flea.

In the past weeks, Izaya got better: his wrists healed and he discarded the wheelchair, shifting to crutches. Shinra said Izaya was healing very fast and soon he would be able to walk on his own, even if it would take time and patience.

Right now, under Izaya's black trousers, there wasn't white gauze anymore. 

Shizuo remembered Izaya's face when Shinra removed the bandages on his legs for good. It was the first time Shizuo saw Izaya with his gaze blank, brows knitted in an almost imperceptible way, and when his pale fingers twitched to close in loose fists, Shizuo found himself holding his breath. Shizuo had known Izaya was a narcissist since the first time he saw him -- Izaya oozed arrogance and conceit from every word, every gaze, every gesture. More than scarring his skin, the burns and the bullet mark damaged his ego, his pride. 

Izaya flinched, even so slightly, every time Shizuo undressed him and washed his legs. Shizuo wondered if he should tell Izaya his skin wasn't less beautiful just because of some scars.

Before the bandages on Izaya's wrists were removed, Shizuo was used to washing him every morning. Luckily, they soon understood how to avoid the embarrassing situation of the first time Shizuo had washed him. Shizuo had learned he shouldn't touch him, not so gently, not with his bare hands, not when he wasn't aware of his own actions anymore. 

Every now and then, when Shizuo shut his mind while he walked or bartended, the Izaya of that day came to his mind. More than his bare body and his fully hard cock, of a darker pink than his pale skin and perfectly proportioned with Izaya's body, Shizuo remembered the changes of expression on Izaya's face. When Shizuo closed his eyes, he recollected how it happened -- Izaya's lips parting, the flutter of starry eyelashes as Shizuo touched him, Izaya's pulse growing faster. And then, before Shizuo could realize it, the moment was transforming: he wasn't washing him anymore. He was admiring Izaya reacting to him. Laying there with his eyes closed and wet, naked body, Izaya had been stripped to his most earnest reactions, and Shizuo felt as though he had caught a glimpse of how Izaya looked like under his thick, mocking masks. Despite being something Shizuo knew he _shouldn't_ redo -- _hell, no!_ \-- seeing  Izaya's human and instinctive side was mesmerizing and strangely addictive. 

In the last month, after Shizuo had washed him, he prepared breakfast and carried Izaya to the seaside, or they played chess. At times, he sat beside Izaya and they worked on crosswords together, their shoulders brushing. Unexpectedly, Izaya didn't complain if Shizuo pointed out-loud the words he knew. Every now and then, Shizuo found some words related to the old movies he loved to watch during the free evenings back when he was in the Military Academy. 

_ "Ah! I know this one. The director of  _ Rear Window _: Alfred Hitchcock, of course!_ _You know, that movie reminds me of you -- you're always near the window watching people outside... Isn't it, flea- kuuuun? C'mon, write it down already! Here, here!"_

_ "You've already said that a looooot of times, Shizu-chan. A joke isn't funny anymore if you keep repeating it, you know?"  _ Izaya had said while patting with the tip of the pencil on Shizuo's index finger, jabbed at the first square of the _32 Horizontal_. 

Izaya had started writing the name down in the grid with his neat calligraphy, but stopped halfway. Shizuo had leant his head on his arms, crossed on the round table in their bedroom, and was looking up at him. Shizuo observed Izaya long enough to elicit a confused frown from the other man, then he had said:

_ "Oi, 'zaya. Do you think  _ Alfred _is a good name for a cat?"_

 

As it was right now, Shizuo was aware his relationship with Izaya couldn't be categorized into watertight compartments anymore -- sometimes they act like enemies and, sometimes, while Shizuo observed Izaya quietly doing crosswords or planning the next move to thrash him while they played chess, he wondered if he could ever be something close to _a friend_ to him. _Fuck, no!_ came the thought immediately after. There was nothing similar to friendship between them. He and  Izaya _just_ spent the days together, sometimes peacefully, sometimes merely trying to not kill each other while they bickered.

More than once Shizuo had repeated to himself that buying a children’s knife instead of a switchblade had been the right choice. Not only because he didn't want to deal with something bothersome like a bleeding wound, but also because Izaya's frustrated face was like ambrosia for his eyes. 

_ "Damn, this knife is rubbish... I hate you, I loathe you so much," _ Izaya was prone to hissing after he had uselessly tried to stab him. Shizuo replied by splitting his sides laughing at the flea's reddened face, and Izaya only got more and more annoyed. However, despite his words, Izaya didn't throw the knife away.

Sometimes, Izaya provoked him beyond what he could stand and he stomped away, slamming the door at his back in order to not punch him in the face.

Other times, at night, Izaya held his hand until Shizuo feel asleep. 

At first it was just fingertips brushing, silky skin lingering on the back of Shizuo's hand before flowing down like water and filling the spaces between his fingers. Then, it became palms being pressed together and intertwined fingers. As days passed by, the initial shock gave way to a placid sense of reassurance. Shizuo wondered if it made Izaya feel better too. 

Even if Izaya's fingers shivered slightly, when Shizuo turned to look at him, the moonlight seeping through the window left open showed him an unperturbed face and open red eyes -- always dry. Izaya hadn't cried, not once. Izaya never woke suddenly from the same nightmares which haunted Shizuo's sleep. Indeed, the first days after Shinra found them, Shizuo couldn't remember anything but void from his dreams, but, as time passed, from the darkness emerged disjointed images of fire and utter terror.

Kasuka waited for him every night, just to look at his older brother one last time, his expression blank, before flames swallowed his frame. Kasuka never replied to Shizuo's desperate scream to run away. Even when fire began eating his pale skin, even when Shizuo screamed at his brother to forgive him, Kasuka's black eyes were still the same -- expressionless, lacking light like the sea at night when Shizuo came back from work. Then, Shizuo felt the fire devouring him too, and he woke up with a jerk, without air in his lungs. 

What he wanted to do in those moments was run, run like hell back where the ashes of their military camp rested and search for something, anything, to soothe his need to know where his little brother rested. And then, he would run to the enemy city to kill as many enemy soldiers as he could. He needed to do it with his bare hands, to hear the crack of bones breaking under his knuckles, hot blood and tears, his or theirs, it didn't matter. Nothing would matter anymore, and before they would shoot him in the head, he must cry out those words hurting his throat for release:

_ Why him? _

When Shizuo sat in bed, his tears had already reached his mouth. The taste was too bitter; it made him feel nauseous. He decided to leave.

He would have disappeared in the dead of night, entering the wild lands to walk through the same path he had made with Izaya in his arms. He would have welcomed death, if cold fingertips hadn't brushed his own, reminding him he couldn't die _yet_. 

Once the daylight came, Shizuo understood that Izaya's touch was meant to remember him to keep their promise. That was a gesture no different at all from their first and only handshake. 

In the dead of night, however, the touch didn't remind Shizuo of his duty to kill Izaya. It was just _consoling_. The faint light of moon and lampposts wasn't enough to unveil the meaning behind actions -- in the darkness of their bedroom,  Izaya was just asking him to stay. Shizuo found himself intertwining his fingers with Izaya's, feeling their hands becoming warmer, their breaths synchronizing.

There were still salty drops in Shizuo's mouth. He still needed to leave, he still wanted to know where Kasuka rested, he still must atone.

He decided to stay.

Unable to release sorrow through actions, questions flowed out of him, like tears: _"Do you think he suffered? Do you think he wondered where I was when he started to feel his skin burning? They say that's the most painful death... Izaya, do you think he cursed me while he exhaled his last breath?"_

Izaya never answered, he only tightened the hold until Shizuo lay down again on the mattress and fell asleep. In the morning, Shizuo always woke to Izaya curled up in one corner of the bed, thin back facing him, as though the touch of his hand was limited to the dead of night. Since the day when their hands brushed as Izaya taught him how to pet cats, they had never shared such a gesture in the daylight.

Shizuo wondered if there was something he could do to be as helpful as Izaya's hand after he had a nightmare, as Izaya teaching him to play chess to not make him think about Kasuka, as Izaya saying he was doing fine while petting a scrawny cat. Because, despite Izaya was strong and indestructible as a cockroach, Shizuo had sensed something had changed in him after they arrived in this village.

_ Izaya _ _ wants to die. _

Shizuo still remembered what happened to Izaya the first time they walked through the asphalt road connecting the village with the outside world. It was carved in his memory how scared Izaya was, unable to breathe, trembling in his arms, eyes shut across Shizuo's neck. Izaya said it was due to an excess of sun, but Shizuo knew it was for the shadows of the night of the attack still haunting him instead. Basing his diagnosis on the description Shizuo gave him, Shinra said Izaya had a _panic attack_. 

It didn't happen a second time, even if Shizuo couldn't stop envisioning him alone, unable to remember how to breathe and shivering when Shizuo was at work or asleep.

Shizuo wished he was good with words so he could convince him that until the day they would leave this village and he would kill him, Izaya could lean on him as Shizuo leaned on Izaya. It would be give and take, mutual support that didn't erase their passionate hatred and incompatibility. He would like to find a good way to say to him _"let me help you as you're helping me,"_ but he had never been a smooth talker. 

When he lay in bed every night, Shizuo hoped for a light, dreamless sleep, to perceive the changes in Izaya's breath, to feel him curling up and dealing alone with his nightmares. But he was too tangled in his own dreams of death and fire to wake if Izaya's breath suddenly quickened. 

_ "Oi louse... If you -- if you still feel like that time, y'know, I won't kick your ass if you wake me," _ he had said, mustering up all the courage he had and trying to sound casual. 

Izaya replied chuckling and, from the flash in his red eyes, Shizuo understood his words had just clashed against another impenetrable mask Izaya had crafted down to fine art. 

In the past month, Izaya's wounds got better, wrists healed, burns became scars, and soon he would be able to walk again, but the psychological wounds seemed only to become gangrenous. When Shizuo came back from work at half past two, he always found Izaya still staring at the empty lanes of a sleeping village outside the window, his gaze void from every emotion. Izaya didn't cry, Izaya didn't let Shizuo help him if he had nightmares, Izaya didn't keep him awake asking him questions Shizuo couldn't answer. 

Izaya was a long-winded person but, in the end, he didn't communicate at all. 

This evening, when Shizuo walked into their room, Izaya was looking outside the window, lost in thoughts. 

"You're early," Izaya said as he petted absentmindedly _Alfred_ , asleep in his lap.

"Tom-san let me go."

Izaya replied humming. He didn't stop looking outside the window when Shizuo began undressing to wear more comfortable clothes.

Shizuo loosened his necktie and his gaze softened when he saw how peaceful the black kitten looked under Izaya's ministrations. Alfred was used to jumping on Shizuo's lap and, here, he began kneading the man's thighs and purring and searching for cuddles. Shizuo petted him, trying to imitate Izaya, but his caresses were way shyer and clumsier. Luckily, Alfred appreciated them in the same way he loved Izaya's and Shizuo felt a bit proud of himself. However, the fear of hurting something so small and frail still blocked Shizuo from taking the cat in his arms like Izaya did. 

"What did Shinra tell you today?" Shizuo asked.

"He said I'm ready to try walking by myself, without doing too much, of course," Izaya replied.

"Ah, that's good."

Izaya hinted a nod.

"Let's go," Shizuo said.

Suddenly, Izaya stopped petting their cat. "Where?" 

"I need another smoke and you have to try walking. Let's go _there_." 

Izaya exhaled and lifted the black cat by his belly. Alfred mewled and tottered toward Shizuo to greet him with a brush of his back against the man's calf. Shizuo patted his small head clumsily as he waited for Izaya to take his crutches. Then, they headed out of the room. Once they exited the main door, Alfred went away on his own like he was used to do. They both agreed the cat could come and go whenever he liked. They didn't want to force him inside the house, so Alfred usually spent the night outside, but every morning he waited for food outside the main door, so they let him come in.

They walked through the road in the opposite direction they usually took to reach the village centre, uphill, until the street ended. The place they reached was a small park at the limit of the vast forest covering the remaining part of the hill where the village was situated. It was a location they discovered just few days before, when they wondered where the road would lead them if they walked past their house.

Partially hidden by beech trees, there was an old, wooden gazebo with a picnic table and a fence delimiting the cliff's edge. Over the fence, the panorama was breathtaking. From there, they overlooked the sea, the entire village and even a portion of the road beside the seaside. Shizuo liked spending lazy afternoons in the shade of the gazebo, taking a nap on one bench while Izaya did crosswords on the other. 

It left him shocked that, once the sun was set, the place looked completely different.

About ten feet beyond the gazebo, the moonlight that streamed through the leaves came to a sudden stop. It was as though the forest inhaled every trace of light to exhale a breeze drenched with the rich smell of sap and damp earth, so cold it enveloped his bare arms in sleeves of ice. As he walked toward the wooden table, the grass cushioned his soles, devouring the sounds produced by his footsteps and Izaya's crutches. Only darkness was left, only silence. _Creepy,_ he thought. 

Shizuo didn't like this place at night. He could sense the presence of the rope with the talismans hidden in the darkness between the trees -- the boundary between the village and the wild lands. The thought didn't bother Shizuo during the day. Now it did, as though the distinction between the human world and that infinite expanse of nothingness became sharper at night. Even if Shizuo had already crossed the uninhabited lands and found nothing supernatural in them, he still remembered Tom's words from more than one month ago: 

_ "We've seen it -- we've seen the monster who kills humans." _

Shizuo found himself tilting his chin up and sniffing, trying to catch the smell of something different than trees, saltiness in the air and the flea. Despite the fact that his senses found nothing, he still felt the hair at the back of his head standing up. It hadn't been a good idea, coming in this place at night.

_ Better make it fast and go home _ , he thought.

He casted a sidelong glance at Izaya, as if to check if the other man had sensed something strange too, and his eyes met Izaya's ones. Izaya was staring at him with a brow raised. The flea looked amused. 

"Do you fear woods at night, Shizu-chan?" Izaya teased. 

"No."

"Liar. You look pale as though you've seen a ghost. But it's fine if you don't want to admit it. I guess it's because you have your pride, after all."

_ Fuck you, Izaya _ , would be his usual reply. He hummed absentmindedly instead, still too intent in trying to understand why he felt so exposed. He couldn't find a rational explanation, he just _smelled_ danger and, for once, it wasn't due to a certain flea smell.

Shizuo sat on one bench, shifting uncomfortably. After he had forced himself to stop trying to identify something in the darkness between the trees, Shizuo watched Izaya rest the crutches against the wooden fence. Then, still holding the wood as support, Izaya turned, his body facing Shizuo despite his scarlet eyes being somewhere else. Beyond Izaya, the night had rolled in over the village, releasing it from the mugginess of another summer's day. Lampposts' lights smudged the walls otherwise charcoal black, their warm halos enlightening Izaya's dark clothes and his face and hands, showing the slight but perpetual tension in them that not even the night could unwind. 

Shizuo observed Izaya in silence, the sensation of impending danger for a moment forgotten. 

When a blast of wind ruffled black hair, making Izaya hiss, the spell broke. Shizuo looked away, right hand jerking in his pockets to grab a half-smoked pack of _American Spirit_.

"Try coming here," he drawled as he lit the cigarette he held between his lips, covering the lighter with his hand to protect the newborn flame from the breeze. Closing his eyes, he inhaled tobacco deep in his throat. 

Shizuo looked again at the ink black trees engulfing them in an atmosphere so spooky he regretted to have left the red lucky charm in his bedside table. Then, Shizuo snorted, and it was supposed to be more for himself when he said out loud:

"You have nothing to fear."

*

Orihara Izaya hated Heiwajima Shizuo from the bottom of his heart. 

Now, more than ever. 

Irritation laced Izaya's chest when Shizuo's words made him realized he was, indeed, scared. No, he was _terrified_. What if he had still a long way to go before walking, or running? What if he would never manage to be as fast as he had always been? What if he wouldn't be able to walk without limping? What if--

Wide-eyed in the semi-darkness surrounding them, Izaya observed Shizuo rising from the bench and stepping toward him. Shizuo put out the cigarette he had just lit and opened his arms.

"I'll take you," he said, nonchalant, his voice a deep purr. 

Izaya's eyes narrowed over a hard, cold gaze. 

"Good God, Shizu-chan is so stupid he thinks I am a child," he said, and his mouth crooked up in a smirk. 

Izaya hoped for a violent reaction, or even for a hint of anger on Shizuo's features -- his fingers seizing another cancer stick to calm himself would be fine too. _Anything but this_ , Izaya thought. _Anything but this calm, almost worried expression_. _It doesn't suit a monster like him at all._

Luckily, Shizuo reacted, and Izaya found himself tilting his chin up, grinning at the quiver of Shizuo's brow. However, since Izaya's whole body burned with repressed anger, Shizuo's gesture felt more like a delicate puff of wind on white-hot pain -- _so unsatisfying_. To add insult to injury,  Shizuo outstretched his hands toward Izaya, as an invitation to reach him. 

"Fuck, I said I'll take you! Come on, Izaya! Or you wanna stay here forever, hah?" he blurted out. Then, his hazel widened and his voice lowered into a whisper as he added, much softer: "Come on. Try walking, even if just for few steps, and then we'll go home."

This was _hell_ , Izaya thought.

Heaven was still so far, barely a mirage flickering on the horizon. There was so much desert to walk through, much more pain and anger to endure, much more information to discover before he could cross the rope hung with talismans and become an immortal being. The next obstacle was the inability to walk, being bound to the wheelchair before and crutches now. Izaya wanted to be fast as he had always been, a shadow hiding in the village's lanes to hear, observe, learn people's secrets. Instead, he moved slowly, lacking his usual grace and becoming worn out before he could discover anything interesting. It was as though he was trapped in a circle of hell, and he wouldn't be able to escape from it if he didn't decide to endure once again and walk toward the man he hated the most.

To convince himself to finally put a step forward, Izaya reminded himself that if he wasn’t able to move on his own, this torment will never end -- this kind of relationship with Shizuo would drive him to madness. Holding Shizuo's hand almost every night had been the worst part. His fingers still twitched at the memory of Shizuo's fingers intertwined with his own. Shizuo's hold was always solid, it hurt just a bit, his warmth rushing through Izaya's body and leaving him helpless.

Izaya forced himself to bear it. Because he couldn't let Shizuo go and die -- no, _not yet_. He needed him, and until he was positive  Shizuo wasn't useful anymore, he would let the monster be close to him.

Izaya gritted his teeth as his hands released the fence.

He walked slowly, clenching his eyes every time he put the weight on the injured leg. It was worse than he expected, and he fought to stay on his feet and to not being overwhelmed by discouragement. When the pain escalated, taking the form of needles piercing his flesh and making him exhale in a soft groan, as he feared, Shizuo took him.

Before he fell on the ground, Shizuo encircled Izaya's waist with his arms and held him on his feet. Izaya hissed against the crook of Shizuo's neck. He didn't want this. His pride had been shattered enough. 

Shizuo leaned closer to murmur in Izaya's ear words of reassurance, while his fingers drew soothing circles on his back. Red eyes darted open. _Let me go,_ Izaya uttered icily in his head. But, somehow, words couldn't reach his lips without being melted. It was like sun on snow, and one month was enough to become addicted to the pain of being unable to push Shizuo away. 

Shizuo squeezed his frame, gently, and Izaya's thoughts began to run:

_ It's so evident he doesn't hate you anymore.  _

_ You must be so pitiful for him.  _

_ He's so nice because you can't walk on your own. He holds your hand in return because of your scarred legs! _

_ How does it feel to have the man you loathe the most nursing you back to health? _

Pale hands clenched Shizuo's shirt when a deep, rich voice murmured its spell: 

"Does it hurt so much?"

_ Monster, if you only knew...  _

The ache from his knee was _nothing_ compared to the torment of being ripped in half by  Shizuo's innocent, almost affectionate gestures. Because, though Shizuo was warm, his intentions were as crystalline as ice. This embrace, making Izaya's self-control faltering and his body yearning, for Shizuo it lacked malice; it was like a child's hug.

If he would ever find a _Dullahan_ , and if they ferried the bravest warriors to Valhalla for real, Izaya swore he would surely manage to pass through the narrow gate of heaven. He had been in war almost his whole life, after all. And now, beyond strategic plans, beyond watching humans reacting to the situations he pushed them through, this was _his_ battle. Right now, he was on the battlefield, in a harsh fight against himself, against the human side of him. How could he not deserve heaven when he fought, day after day, against the instinctive part of him _craving_ for  Shizuo's touch, Shizuo's eyes on his naked body while he washed him, the rhythm of Shizuo's breath in the darkness of their bedroom?

It would have been so much easier if Shizuo hadn't stop hating him, had kept from him every sign of empathy. Shizuo should just let him dealing with his injuries alone. 

_ Just act like a monster, Shizu-chan. _

On the crook of his neck, Shizuo smelled of the day they spent together. The morning shower lingered on blond hair in a hint of lavender from the shampoo they shared. On Shizuo's skin, there was still a trace of sunrays, of the saltiness in the breeze on the seaside. Izaya sensed tobacco too, and the smell of beer from the pub. Izaya inhaled deeply to catch the sweet scent of Shizuo's skin. It made him feel too dizzy, it was unsettling. It was _intoxicating._

Izaya knew he should push him away _now_. He couldn't. He wanted to slide his lips from  Shizuo's collarbone up to his earlobe, thread his fingers in the bleached hair on the nape of his neck, twirl strands across his own fingers and leave no room between their bodies.

Izaya wanted to kill him. 

Izaya wanted to trace Shizuo's neck with his tongue.

Izaya nuzzled his neck and Shizuo froze in the embrace, muscles tensing, hands paralyzed across Izaya's back. 

Izaya's lips lingered right above Shizuo's collarbone. Izaya knew he shouldn't open them more than this, he shouldn't let his tongue lick him. He shouldn't leave marks either, otherwise he would hate himself every time he saw them above the hem of Shizuo's shirt. Aware of the boundaries he must not cross, Izaya traced the tendons of Shizuo's neck with his lips only, smiling languidly across the tanned skin as he sensed Shizuo's pulse speeding up, becoming frantic under his lips.

Electricity spread through him, and when he felt the taste of Shizuo's skin on the tip of his tongue, he realized how powerless he was, his self-control already shattering. 

His mind was screeching at him to stop when his mouth closed on a spot on Shizuo’s neck. He sucked. 

"Izaya..." 

Shizuo's voice rolled out hoarse and ragged of his tongue. Izaya's breath caught dangerously in his throat as he waited for a question that, luckily, never came. 

Shizuo was frozen in place as Izaya's mouth explored the unexpected tenderness of the monster's armor, the skin shielding the pulsing life of the carotid. A grin tensed Izaya's mouth in a sharp bow. Despite being a monster, Izaya knew Shizuo could bleed. He had made him bleed plenty of times and, now, Izaya would _love_ to see his own desperation mirrored in  Shizuo's hazel eyes, if he were to bite him harsh enough to pierce his neck. 

Darkness surrounded them and blinded Izaya's mind. He kissed Shizuo's neck and Shizuo was still immobile, his pulse frantic, large hands twitching slightly when Izaya indulged himself in longer kisses, leaving behind wet trails and blooming red marks. Through his lashes, Izaya looked up at Shizuo's lips, parted in a soundless question, at his flushed cheeks, at his dark eyes. From Shizuo's chest, Izaya drew up his hand to brush Shizuo's jaw with his fingers. Shizuo jolted, tilting his chin up enough to leave room for a trail of open-mouthed kisses, from collarbone to the skin under his earlobe. 

In the meanwhile, the same tall trees that shielded the rope with talismans blotted the silver light of the moon. It was as though a spirit from the wild lands awoke at night and skimmed the human world with rustling arm-like branches of dark leaves, devouring the lights coming from the village at Izaya's back. Two opposite worlds clashed inside Izaya and outside him \-- rationality and instinct, order and chaos, light from the village and darkness from the wild lands. He was in between, gasping for sanity. 

While Shizuo smelled, _tasted_ of the day they had passed together, the forest in front of  Izaya's eyes stunk of centuries, amassed like piles of leaves on the ground, smelling of the untouched life hidden there since the dawn of time, untouchable until the end of the world. Lampposts' lights tinted Shizuo's skin and hair tips, a luminous galaxy mirroring the stars above and moving with the rhythm of Shizuo's shallow breath. Between the trees and on the ground in front of Izaya, instead, there was only motionless obscurity.

Suddenly, Izaya stopped kissing Shizuo's neck.

_ The darkness. _

The darkness wasn't motionless.

The darkness was alive.

_ This is my mind _ , he thought. _Just another nightmare_. _Trees can't move_.

The leaves on the ground rustled. His heartbeat sped up, until he felt as though there were hammers pounding inside his ribcage.

There was _someone_ hidden in the forest--

_ Soldiers! _

_ Shizu-chan _ _ , oh god, they found us! _

The air surrounding him freeze his thoughts, his muscles, his bones, until he was only aware of his blood, racing a continuous course through his body.

Leaves rustled, the obscurity pulsed, expelling a branch of darkness that now started meandering on the ground. It was similar to a _shadow_.

The shadow extended, devouring leaves and grass. Izaya knew it meant its _owner_ was coming out from behind the trees. It was close. Too close. 

Izaya's mouth opened.

The shadow kept growing. _Who can be so tall to have such a shadow?!_ Izaya wondered. And yet, it stretched again, as though it had been an enormous snake made of absence of light, its skin even darker than the trees' shade. __

"Flea?"

Shizuo couldn't hear him -- Izaya's scream was stuck, frozen in his throat. He hugged Shizuo tighter, holding on, his fingers clenching Shizuo's shirt.

"Izaya! What the hell is happening-- Izaya! Talk to me!"

Izaya's breath withered in his throat.

His body began to shiver, as though it had been stricken by a high voltage electric discharge. He clenched his fists, nails digging into Shizuo's back.

"W-what the fuck! Izaya!"

Shizuo's voice was far away from him now. Izaya could barely feel the gentle hand threading in his hair anymore, clumsy in the way only Shizuo's fingers were. For once, the touch didn't shatter his heart, as his muscles contracted as he struggled to breathe and scream and move. 

"IZAYA!"

Shizuo grabbed Izaya's shoulders and looked at him through worried hazel eyes. 

Lights from the human world flickered in Shizuo's eyes. 

Izaya smiled at _the monster_ at Shizuo's back.

The last sound Izaya heard was the one of his own scream, finally released from his throat, blending into a laughter. It came to him as thought it didn't belong to his body anymore \-- a high-pitched, blood-freezing sound of nails on blackboard. 

Then, his mind fell into darkness.


	12. A matter of life and death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, thank you so much for all your support! You're all so precious and cute, let me hug all of you!

There was no sound through the air but the moaning wind shaking the foliage and making the grass rustle. It passed as suddenly as it came, and the forest was quiet again, ink-black trees frozen while waiting for the wind again. Just for a moment, something moved in the depths of Izaya's eyes. It was a shadow that didn't produce any sound, leaving the silence unbroken. 

Once again, Shizuo called Izaya's name.

The answer rose in the form of a little chuckle, low-pitched, almost murmured. It sounded like a speech, but no words were distinguishable alongside the repetition of a syllable, rhythmic and mechanical like a key being turned in a lock. Though a laugh is usually an energy-driven expression, this particular one sounded calm and composed. It didn't become boisterous even when it picked up steam and rolled faster and faster, louder and more high-pitched, to explode in a hysterical fit of giggles. It sounded unnatural, born by obscure feelings that had nothing to do with amusement. It was _sinister_. 

When red eyes fell shut, the laughter ceased. Izaya's head fell sideways, and a second later it was as though he was boneless, all his weight settling across Shizuo's body. 

"Izaya," Shizuo murmured, the tone of his voice deep but softened compared to the coarse way Izaya's name usually rolled off his tongue. "Are you making fun of me?"

Something unexplainable had just happened -- kisses had turned into a creepy laughter, warm body into a shivering mess and, finally, silence. Shizuo didn't understand the logic justifying Izaya's actions, and not understanding was a bother. One blond brow twitched. Furthermore, Izaya's laugh had scared him, and fear along with confusion was annoying. Being confused, scared and turned on it definitely pissed him off. His fists clenched, his jaw tensed as his thoughts all gnarled together into a mantra of _kill, kill, kill_ \-- he was angry, mad, _furious!_

"I swear, louse!" he snapped. "If this is another of your fucking jokes, I--"

Izaya didn't interrupt him with a mocking comment, he didn't laugh at Shizuo's reaction to his kisses, his lips didn't curl in a smirk -- he was silent as though he was asleep. Shizuo's fists loosened, jaw relaxed when he understood Izaya _couldn't_ react nor offer explanation for his behavior, because he had lost consciousness.

Shizuo turned and decided to lay Izaya on top of the wooden picnic table. He cushioned Izaya's head with his hand and lifted his chin so he could breathe more easily. Then, he pressed the pads of index and middle finger to Izaya's neck, searching for heartbeat. He lowered his ear close to Izaya's lips, holding his breath while waiting for a response. 

Izaya's pulse ticked across Shizuo's fingers, rapid but fairly strong, while on Shizuo's cheek fanned faint puffs of air, smelling slightly of mint toothpaste. Shizuo straightened up and exhaled loudly.

While he waited for Izaya to wake, Shizuo couldn't help himself from wondering: If Izaya was just screwing around with him when he had decided to kiss his neck, why the laughing and passing out in the middle of it? Though this question tormented him, the real issue was _why_ he hadn't pushed the flea away while he was kissing him. Shizuo knew right from start that Izaya was seducing him just to laugh at his reaction. Furthermore, Izaya's inability to walk didn't excite a mere grain of pity in Shizuo -- releasing the louse and letting him fall on the ground wouldn't have burdened Shizuo's conscience more than putting an extra spoonful of sugar in Izaya's milk and cereal. It scared him that he had let Izaya do whatever he wanted. And, to add insult to injury, Shizuo had enjoyed it. 

He frowned, both his hands threading into bleached strands because he could _still_ feel the violence of Izaya's kisses. The cold night air marked the spots where Shizuo's skin was wet, as though Izaya meant to tattoo onto his enemy's skin how his lips had parted, how humid breath became the flat of his tongue. For some reason, Shizuo hadn't done anything to react. Even now, the memory of how Izaya had kissed him thrummed through his blood -- it was the tension locked between Shizuo's sternum and shoulder blades, preventing him from speaking, thinking, breathing properly.

When Izaya startled out of unconsciousness, Shizuo's hair was already messy, blond locks pushed in a chaos that unwittingly mirrored the confusion inside his head. 

Izaya's eyelashes fluttered over a blank gaze for a moment before the man himself jerked to sitting on the table. With wide open red eyes and parted lips, he turned his head left, right, and then forward, as if to search for something. _He's scared_ , Shizuo thought. _He had just noticed there's something creepy here_. The road leading home wasn't visible from the gazebo, so it was as though everything was wrapped up in a black blanket of grass, bushes and majestic trees -- it made Shizuo feel a bit cold down the backbone. 

While Shizuo tried to find the right words to reassure him that they would leave this place immediately, Izaya slipped down the table to land on both his feet. He hissed, clenching a fistful of the fabric of his trousers, right above his knee. Breathing hard and groaning softly under his breath, Izaya headed toward the fence to reach his crutches.

Wide-eyed, Shizuo followed him, ready to help him in case he staggered too much to regain balance by himself. 

"Are you okay?" Shizuo couldn't help himself from asking. 

Once again, Izaya didn't reply. He seized the crutches and distanced himself from Shizuo instead. With his brows knitted, Shizuo ruffled the hair at the back of his head, because Izaya ignoring his questions once again fed the anger burning under his skin. Annoyance turned into shock when, instead of walking toward the road, Izaya delved in the dark trees beyond the gazebo. The thick forest had almost swallowed his frame when he spoke.

"Go home," Izaya murmured, his voice ragged, raw, deeper than usual. "I'll meet you in a moment."

"Hah?!" Shizuo barked. "What do you plan to do there, louse? Wanna go for a walk in the dead of night, in a forest, with fucking _crutches_?!" 

"No," Izaya replied while he tried to put more distance between them as possible. When he turned toward Shizuo, the flea was wearing a smile so fake that Shizuo wondered if Izaya took the time to build his facade properly, or if he was too busy trying to run away. "Just start going home," Izaya repeated, pretending cheerfulness. "I swear I'll be back in a flash!"

_ What the hell? _ Shizuo thought. _What the hell is happening? What is he planning? What the fuck is going on in his head?!_

"What do you need to do here _without me_ , Izaya?" Shizuo asked, flatly. "You come home now, louse." 

_ He kissed me, he laughed like that... he fainted! Now he wants to go who-knows-where on his own. Could it be that he's scared? Is he hallucinating? Is he... terrified? _

Izaya's behavior was like a jigsaw puzzle with no reference picture, a bunch of nonsense that Shizuo couldn't unravel, no matter how hard he wracked his brain. If something hidden in the forest had frightened Izaya, the logical reaction would be running toward the road leading to the village, right? The answer was _yes_ , unless there was no logic to follow, unless the pieces weren't supposed to form a bigger picture... Unless the trigger lay in Izaya's mind. 

Breath caught in Shizuo's throat, as though he had just woken from one of the nightmares haunting his sleep. 

_...Could it be that this is another panic attack? _

"No," Shizuo thundered, changing his plan. He knew he wasn't supposed to draw to conclusions yet. However, if Izaya was suffering from a panic attack, there was someone who could help Izaya better than Shizuo. "We won't go home. I'm gonna carry you to Shinra's."

Something fell on the grass when Izaya pivoted toward Shizuo. His features were indistinct, but the moonlight seeping through the leaves caught the gleam of his scarlet eyes. Anger lurked in them like an obscure fire; usually it was subdued, but now, it was on verge of exploding. Shizuo shuddered, then his gaze fell on Izaya's outstretched arm. As he balanced himself on a single crutch, Izaya pointed the Swiss Army knife at Shizuo.

"Let me go," Izaya commanded, though the tone of his voice sounded more appropriate for a prayer, rather than intimidation.

Shizuo tilted his head back and burst into laughter. 

"What do you think you're doing with a children's knife, Izaya-kuuuun? Trying to stab me, hah?! Don't make me laugh--"

The sound came first -- it was the thump of metal on bone. Then came the pain. White hot ache scorched Shizuo's skull, and he kneeled on the ground with both hands on his head because Izaya had just hit him with the knife's handle, between his eyebrows, hard enough to make his head spin. _That flea! That fucking louse!_ He cursed mentally, since nothing beside a mantra of "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" could pass through his lips. His shouts resounded, in crescendo, in the utter silence broken only by the faint sound of crutches on grass and Izaya's ragged voice whispering: 

"I was close, so close -- Come on, just show yourself again, one more time... Come on, _come on_!"

Through his messy bangs, Shizuo searched for Izaya, his hard gaze accompanied by the deliberate slow breathing meant as a means to keep rage at bay. He recognized the flea by the fair skin of the nape of his neck. Shizuo shifted to his feet. He violently shoved the knife into his trouser pockets and shouted Izaya's name with all the air he had in his lungs. 

With his long legs eating up the grass, he reached Izaya in few steps. In one swift motion, Shizuo lowered himself, grabbed Izaya by the waist and tipped him over his shoulder. Holding the back of Izaya's knees with one hand and the crutches with the other, Shizuo turned and strode home. 

Izaya squirmed, jabbing his elbows at Shizuo's back. He struggled, trying to free himself like his life depended on it. Shizuo's brows knitted and his jaw clenched at the pain still lingering inside his skull and, more than anything, because he couldn't find an explanation for Izaya's behavior. He was about to shout at Izaya to stop it already when he heard him muttering under his breath, with a small voice.

"Wait -- I want to go back!"

Shizuo stopped walking. "You wish," he replied, deadpan.

"You don't understand, I _have to_ go back!" Izaya screeched, beating with his hands and trying to pierce Shizuo's skin with his fingernails. Between the punches and elbows and scratches, Shizuo could feel him trembling, breath escaping through his nose and mouth in gasps. In spite of everything, Shizuo replied smoothly: 

"At least give me a good reason, Izaya. And then _we_ 'll go back."

Izaya shook his head. "Put me down already -- _Please!_ "

For a long instant, Shizuo evaluated the idea that Izaya wasn't panicking but was actually searching for something in the woods -- but what could it be, to make someone like Izaya _beg_ to reach it? _Nothing_ , Shizuo thought. The Izaya he knew wouldn't beg for anything, probably not even for his life.

Shizuo restarted the walk to Shinra's house, speeding up the pace. Izaya hit his back so harshly that he exhaled in a groan, but he still refused to put him down. He was running when he arrived at Shinra's door. Thankfully, the living room's lights were on. 

"Be quiet, flea!" Shizuo groaned when Izaya squirmed and shook his head, so violently he almost slipped from Shizuo's shoulder. 

Shizuo rang the bell.

"Shinra?" Shizuo asked, trying his best to control the red-hot anger from turning his voice into feral growls, since Izaya had just gifted him at least two dozen blows to his body. 

Shizuo's back had started to ache and no reply nor sound of approaching steps came from behind the closed door. Shizuo pressed his index finger on the bell again.

"Shinra? I'm sorry -- _ouch!_ \-- I think I need your help!"

For a split second, he entertained the idea of kicking down the door. He discarded the idea one second later, because damaging the property of someone he was indebted (and grateful) to was definitely a boundary he must not cross. Shizuo waited again, taking Izaya's skillful blows while trying to catch the sound of Shinra's steps. Suddenly, Izaya stopped hit him and murmured:

"Let me go -- I promise I'll do anything. Do you want money? I'll give you whatever you want. Just let me go back."

Shizuo shook his head and replied in a husky drawl: "You'll never buy me, Izaya." 

"I know you're doing this it out of spite. But you'll pay for it," Izaya said. Before Shizuo could reply, Izaya's fists shifted under his shirt. The palms of Izaya's hands were a warm pressure moving down, tracing Shizuo's spine to stop on the small of his back. Shizuo found himself unable to exhale, his breath linked to Izaya's fingertips. He could do nothing but wait -- for what, he didn't want to know. When Izaya's nails sank deeply onto his skin, he gasped. Despite how his back ached and heartbeat hammered in his chest, Shizuo couldn't miss the way Izaya restarted talking. Words came out in a whisper so low-pitched to send chills throughout Shizuo's spine: "I _swear_ it, monster -- I'll destroy you."

Shinra never came to open the door, so Shizuo turned and headed home. At least, for the moment, Izaya was silent, his hands clenching Shizuo's shirt. He was shivering, but Shizuo swore it wasn't from fear, or from the cold air. Izaya was _livid_ with frustration, and he was surely devising plans to escape \-- but they all were doomed to fail until he was unable to run. Izaya was aware he was hopeless, Shizuo thought, and this was the reason why he was so furious.

Once in the bedroom, Shizuo made Izaya lay on the bed. 

"Want something to drink?" Shizuo asked as he folded his own clothes in the wardrobe, leaving only his boxers on, as usual.

Izaya shook his head. His gaze was fixed on the door leading downstairs, wiped clean of every emotion. Shizuo wondered if he was finally going to cry, overwhelmed by frustration and repressed anger but, when he kneeled down in front of him, Izaya's eyes were dry. 

"Do you want to share something to eat?" Shizuo murmured as he toyed with the Swiss Army knife and put it on Izaya's bedside table.

Izaya shook his head again as he began undressing, slowly, his gaze still unmoved.

"Fine," Shizuo breathed.

Black hair became ruffled when Izaya made the shirt pass over his head, but he didn't flattened them like he always did. His lips lacked their provocative smirk, sealed in an expression of unspeakable frustration. Izaya removed his shirt and socks without uttering a word. Shizuo waited to take his clothes and fold them in the wardrobe sitting cross-legged on the floor, head pillowed on his bent arm. 

Izaya's movements came to a sudden halt when his thumbs caught on his trousers' hem before he removed them, and Shizuo knew he had to divert his own gaze. Izaya hadn't stopped out of prudishness, because Shizuo had always looked at him when he undressed and washed him. Shizuo knew how Izaya's body looked, to such an extent that he could build the mental image of the width of his shoulders, the trail of the slightly protruding veins on his forearms, the sharpness of his hipbones. Shizuo knew how the rivulets of water curled into the junction of his collarbones and glided down his chest to embrace his waist or delve between his bandaged legs. Shizuo knew how Izaya's body looked like, so the reason why Izaya couldn't stand his gaze anymore couldn’t be embarrassment, but he swore it was linked to Izaya's decision to always wear long trousers, even when he went to bed. 

Once Izaya had changed into his pajamas, Shizuo put Izaya's clothes into the wardrobe and strode to the bed. 

Instead of laying on his back, like he normally did to fall asleep, Shizuo turned on his side to face Izaya's back. Izaya wasn't far from him; he could touch him if he wanted to, just by reaching out his hand, and explain him that he hadn't carried him home out of spite as Izaya said. Shizuo was pondering if there existed a word choice that could grant him the ability to communicate with the flea, when Izaya rose from the bed, grabbed the Swiss Army knife and searched for the crutches. 

Izaya inhaled a sharp breath when Shizuo seized his wrist. 

"Put the knife down and come here," Shizuo said.

Shizuo hesitated. He had no idea how he was supposed to deal with Izaya when he panicked. He wasn't Shinra, he had just picked Izaya up bodily and brought him away from the forest, but he didn't really know how to make him feel safe. He lacked experience, after all -- when it had happened, a month ago, he had only held Izaya until he had fallen asleep-- 

Shizuo pulled Izaya back onto the bed.

"What?" Izaya said, a bit sharply.

Shizuo overcame Izaya's resistance by holding him firmly and making him turn so they were facing each other. Izaya's eyes screwed shut as Shizuo draped the sheets over both of them before leaning closer. As the inches of mattress between them reduced, Shizuo's heart reacted. 

It wasn't a thump, and not quite a beat. It was the leap of a sparrow jumping upward to take-off. There was a flutter of wings inside Shizuo's ribcage now, fast and loud in his hears and, before he realized it, his throat was dry, adrenaline exploded through his body like a cluster bomb, self-control shattered to smithereens. 

Yet, Shizuo tried to pay attention. He tried to be gentle when he encircled Izaya's torso with his arms, the hand that had gripped Izaya's wrist now molded across the nape of Izaya's neck, fingers tangling into black hair. He pulled Izaya against his chest and squeezed his slender frame. Izaya exhaled a choked breath so Shizuo released him, just as much as was necessary to adjust his grip, regulate his strength, unclench his fingers. He embraced Izaya again, more carefully this time, shivering ever so slightly. 

Izaya's lips felt _so_ near when they opened. Hotness curled under Shizuo's cheeks, prickling like a bad sunburn.

"Let me go," Izaya said across Shizuo's chest.

Shizuo closed his eyes and breathed out: "Shut up. Go to sleep, Izaya."

_ _ A question poked Shizuo's mind as he hugged Izaya and tried to relax: _How are people supposed to enjoy sleeping while hugging?_ It wasn't pleasurable, at all. Shizuo could even bring himself to say he _hated_ it. Izaya was too tense, his elbows were sharp in Shizuo's stomach, his knees too hard across his legs, and clenched fists felt too cold against Shizuo's bare chest. "I hate you," Izaya said, reflecting with voice and words the hostility in his body.

The feeling was mutual -- Shizuo hated the flea in return, with the same burning passion. Yet, the words twisted wrong in his head to become _I'm worried for you_ instead, so he just hummed, shifting in the desperate search for a more comfortable position. Izaya was all muscles and bones and tension, clashing against Shizuo's half-naked body. 

Shizuo felt exposed.

Though Shizuo kept moving, he couldn't find peace. His whole body was on alert, sensitive to the tiniest quiver in Izaya's. The flea's scent was too strong, the muscles under the pale skin too taut. Izaya's breath didn’t match Shizuo's own and if he tried to synchronize himself to him, Shizuo found himself lacking air. No matter how hard he tried to relax, the more he forced himself to sleep, the more he felt alert.

Shizuo had braced himself for a sleepless night when, suddenly, Izaya's breath changed -- now it fanned out softly, with the rhythm of a lullaby, deep, wide and reassuring. Izaya bent his neck slightly, resting his forehead across Shizuo's chest. From the nape of his neck to his wrists, Izaya's shoulders and arms loosened. Fists unclenched and knuckles gave way to the pads of his fingers, thumb catching on the smooth ridge of the old scar Izaya gifted Shizuo the first time they met. Against his will, Shizuo shivered. Izaya rested his fingertips there and stretched his legs, intertwining them with Shizuo's. It was as though Izaya's tension was melting, leaving his body through his breath until he was unwound. Shizuo groaned, softly, and gradually relaxed across Izaya's body, his fingers shifting as they had their own will, feeling the softness of Izaya's hair. 

Shizuo's consciousness fragmented into simple sensations -- the fresh night air across his back, the slight coarseness of the pillow, silky strands smelling faintly of lavender, warm forehead and hands on his chest, Izaya's breath that now had the same rhythm of Shizuo's one. All the sensations coiled behind Shizuo's closed eyelids into a darkness that soothed and lulled him gently. He hugged Izaya closer, resting his chin on top of his head and, finally, a dreamless sleep overcame him.

*

Izaya woke to a tremor across his forehead. There was also _something_ stroking and ruffling his hair. It felt good, and he would have drifted back to sleep, if it hadn't been for a rich sound reverberating in the air. Gradually, Izaya began to unravel words from the flow, though he couldn't quite catch their meaning:

"I've never heard him laughing like that."

Another sound crawled in, a more high-pitched and less pleasant one, cheerful to a saccharine extent. "Laughing, huh? Then?"

"He fainted! Ah, yeah, he laughed in a very creepy way -- a lot creepier than usual. He woke up few minutes after, though. He seemed eager to go for a walk in the woods. It was as though he was searching for something... Isn't it strange, hah? He told me to go home without him, the louse. I stopped him, of course! I carried him straight to your house, but you weren't there--" The touch on Izaya's hair stopped, together with sound, as though they were somehow linked. "I was afraid he was having another panic attack."

A small pause left Izaya dreading that the pleasant sound had vanished forever. It restarted immediately after, deep, reassuring, and still near. 

"What can I do now?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, is there something I can do?"

"Well, if he doesn't decide to talk about what happened yesterday, and why he reacted that way, just let him rest. If you can, stand by his side, just like you're already doing! And also, if I were you, I won't forget to be _veeeery_ patient. Don't stress him too much by poking him with questions..." 

"Yeah...Got it." It sounded like a rich purr, making Izaya's bones feel like they were vibrating, sending him drifting him back to sleep. 

The two sounds kept alternating in the backdrop of his sleep, but the words were blurred and indistinguishable. On the other hand, Izaya was too enchanted to search for meaning -- the touch on his hair overruled everything. Sometimes it was hesitant, sometimes firmer against his scalp, parting strands and sending sparks throughout his body.

This time, Izaya woke with a jolt, his lips parted in a gasp. Both his hands and face rested on silky skin, smelling of a musky, sweet scent. If sleep hadn't unraveled itself from his mind, he would have snuggled down and fallen asleep once again. But he was awake now, so he distanced himself instead, only to notice that the same touch that had lulled him to sleep, now prevented him from getting away. _Fingers_ were threaded in his hair, and a hand was pressed to the nape of his neck. Izaya's eyes widened when the deep sound he heard before spoke softly:

"You awake, flea?"

Izaya tilted his chin up.

Shizuo lay on his side, half-naked, head pillowed on one hand, while the other was still tangled in Izaya's strands. The unmistakable bruise-like marks on Shizuo's neck were already fading into a dark shade of pink; very likely, tomorrow there wouldn't be any trace of them. When their gazes met, Shizuo's lips molded in the hint of a smile. Something feral still lay in Shizuo's expression, but it was buried under layers of kindness, resembling sheer compassion far too much for Izaya’s tastes.

"Are you okay?" Shizuo asked, his voice warm, luxurious, and mesmerizing like his fingers that now were gently rubbing behind Izaya's ear as though he was a cat.

Izaya nodded. The instant he wondered why Shizuo asked such a strange question, the memories from the night before all resurfaced -- his mind unraveled the shadows of half-sleep and everything became clear. Izaya's palms closed into fist, knuckles pressed hard into Shizuo's chest. He jerked free and blurted out:

"Where is Shinra?"

*

Shizuo knew Izaya had distanced himself with a jerk too rough and sudden for being driven just by the desire to get up from the bed, but he didn't ask for an explanation. He limited himself to say: "Shinra's not at home. He said he'll be back in the evening though." 

"I need him now," Izaya said as he seized the crutches. The word _now_ came out harsh, grating slightly on Shizuo's nerves. 

"We can go downstairs and call him on his phone if you--"

"No. Not by phone," Izaya interrupted him and stood up, the wooden floor creaking under his feet as he headed toward the bathroom.

Shizuo sensed the conversation was closed, and he knew he must keep his mouth shut, because talking with Izaya right now meant a one way ticket to a hell of a day, spent trying to blow off steam walking alone (while cursing the flea). Continuing to ask him what happened yesterday evening was useless -- he should be patient, just as Shinra said. 

"I'm not Shinra, but--" Shizuo waited for Izaya to turn to add, tentatively: "Wanna talk about something?"

Izaya chuckled. "What do you want to talk to me about, Shizu-chan?"

Shizuo's reply came out growled, like the preamble of a storm: "Oi 'zaya, don't use that shitty tone with me..."

The corners of Izaya's lips curled. "Or what?"

"IZAYA!" Shizuo roared as he exploded out of the bed, stomping toward Izaya until he was towering over the smaller man.

Izaya smirked as he walked past Shizuo. 

With one hand, Shizuo grabbed Izaya's shoulder to make him turn. He miscalculated the strength and Izaya stumbled. Shizuo kept him on his feet by clenching both Izaya's arms. Izaya hissed, eyes screwed shut.

"Izaya," Shizuo said, softly, bending his back so he was face to face with him. "I can help you if you let me do it."

"I'm fine," Izaya replied.

"YOU'RE NOT--" Shizuo blurted out, just to turn his head sideways while biting his lower lip. Despite Shinra’s suggestion to be patient, he was losing it already. Izaya only watched him with a hard gaze, while Shizuo clenched Izaya's arm and forced himself to act calm. He was still expressionless when Shizuo released him slowly -- Izaya's mask was thick, cold as ice, impossible to pierce and to melt. 

"I'm fine," Izaya repeated.

_ Liar _ , Shizuo thought. Izaya sounded so distant, so much further away than the few inches between them. Right now, there was no word, no gesture that would let Shizuo reach him.

"Don't worry for me Shizu-chan," Izaya added, his voice slightly more low-pitched than usual. "Now, if you don't mind, I would like to take a shower."

Izaya headed toward the bathroom without turning his head back. Shizuo stood still, frozen in place. When he heard the pounding of the shower, he realized his ears were vigilant in trying to catch alarming sounds underneath the roar of pouring water. Shizuo shot a last glace at the bathroom door, now closed, and went downstairs. Even if it was already lunch, he didn't want to lose much time cooking, so he prepared their usual breakfast instead. 

The first weeks they had been living together, Izaya didn't stop complaining about Shizuo's choices in regard to food. Yet, they both kept eating milk and cereal for breakfast. After a while, Izaya stopped protesting and, the morning after, Shizuo ceased adding sugar to his milk. When Izaya's wrists were still healing, Shizuo spoon fed him in bed. Lately, they had begun to eat breakfast sitting at the small table in their bedroom, while Izaya looked outside the window.

Sometimes, Shizuo stopped eating to observe Izaya's involuntary gestures.

Even if the former strategist pretended most of the time, like every _human being_ he couldn't keep everything under control. It was the few things escaping his attention that were the object of Shizuo's interest -- the infinitesimal tilting of his head to one side when something out of the window gained his attention, the habit of biting his lower lip in concentration, the way his red eyes widened in genuine surprise. When Shizuo managed to catch those rare moments of sincerity in Izaya, an unsettling thought struck him and left him breathless.

_ What if we keep living like this? _

The thought left Shizuo thunderstruck, because he had never evaluated the idea of a future after he repaid Shinra for medical care and the rent – keeping on living after what happened to his little brother by his own fault was unacceptable to Shizuo. 

 

When Shizuo returned in the bedroom with two bowls of milk and cereal, the water had stopped pouring. The sound of ceramic clinking on the round table faded in the air, leaving nothing but silence between them. Shizuo sat down holding between his hands the lukewarm bowl, and waited for Izaya before he started eating.

He jolted when the bathroom door opened and, at his back, Shizuo heard the thump of the crutches on wooden floor. With a whispered "Thank you," Izaya sat down in front of him, and the scent of lavender diffused from his still dripping strands into the air. Shizuo had ended up buying the same shampoo three times already, because he liked how it made Izaya's hair glossy and feather- soft (even if he would _never_ say it out loud.)

Izaya began eating his milk and cereal, ignoring Shizuo's presence, his gaze following the people strolling and chatting in the village's lanes. Suddenly, it happened -- red eyes sharpened and Izaya, almost imperceptibly, tilted his head to one side. 

Shizuo's teeth tugged at his lower lip, chewing on the emotions that gripped his heart since yesterday evening; even still, he smiled.

_ Life goes on, _ he thought.

Hazel eyes widened and he shook his head so violently that Izaya turned to look at him.

"Are you fine, Shizu-chan?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. 

"Eh? Ah, yeah..."

Izaya sent him a single questioning look before focusing back on the world outside, sipping absentmindedly from his bowl. After a while, he asked:

"Alfred?"

"Shinra let him come in and gave him food," Shizuo replied. "He's sleeping downstairs, in his basket."

Izaya gave the barest hint of a nod, and turned toward the window once again, lost in thought.

"Would you like to try again?" Shizuo asked while he poked absentmindedly the last cereal in his milk. "Walking, I mean..."

Shizuo's eyes focused back on Izaya, to observe his response.

"Sure," Izaya replied, flatly enough to make it clear he wasn't inclined to proceed with the conversation any further.

After they had finished their food in silence, Shizuo took a shower. When he came out from the bathroom, Izaya was on his feet, one hand supporting him against the wall. 

"Wanna stay here?" Shizuo asked.

Izaya replied with a nod.

"Fine," Shizuo said as he sprawled on the bed, stretching out his arm to reach a pencil and the crossword magazine Izaya kept on his bedside table. 

Izaya usually would leave blank the quizzes he judged too easy to challenge his intellect, so Shizuo was used to flip through pages of completed crosswords and incomprehensible puzzles to fill the games Izaya ignored -- _Connect the Dots_ was one of them. Other times, Shizuo simply observed Izaya's calligraphy. Despite the fact that Izaya often wrote without a table as support, the words were always legible and neat, elegant like the invisible drawings his fingers painted on Alfred's fur and on the back of Shizuo's hand. Shizuo always found himself surprised at how different their handwritings were, since his own consisted for the most part of sloppy lines. It clashed with Izaya's almost as their personalities--

"Shizu-chan," Izaya said, interrupting Shizuo's train of thought. "Stop chewing on the pencil."

"Hmm?"

"Yes, I'm talking with you, protozoan! Stop chewing on _my_ pencil!"

Still holding the pencil between his teeth, Shizuo turned his head sideways to face Izaya who, while the blond was occupied, had managed to take a few steps. 

"Hah?"

"Seriously, you have to do something about that oral fixation of yours, Shizu-chan."

"Shaddup!" Shizuo snapped. "And mind your own business, louse! 'sides, your fucking pencil doesn't stop writing after one or two biting marks!"

Izaya rolled his eyes, murmuring: "At least chew on the other three you almost crumbled with your monstrous teeth."

Shizuo pouted. Still pissed off, he pretended to focus back on the magazine, shifting the pencil to hold it between his lips. If only he could smoke! Izaya hadn't accepted any compromises on the matter of cigarettes. If Shizuo didn't care about his health, the louse had said, he was free to chain-smoke all the packets he wanted. However, smoking inside the house was strictly forbidden. _"This is Shinra's father's house, Shizu-chan! Don't make it stink!"_ the flea had said. Shizuo's counter argument had been too weak to gain a chance to keep smoking in bed: 

_ "You're already making it stink enough with your fricking flea smell!" _

Back then, the quarrel had ended with a bitter Shizuo sitting cross-legged in the middle of the garden, an unlit cigarette between his lips. His back faced the window where Izaya was giggling in the bliss of victory, reminding Shizuo that, in the rush to leave the bedroom, he had forgotten to take the lighter. 

Shizuo couldn't really stand him.

 

After the quarrel over bite marks on pencils, Shizuo left Izaya by himself and completed some household chores. He fed Alfred and took advantage of hanging the laundry out to try to take a smoke. Alfred joined him at a trot, head and tail held high. He rubbed his head across Shizuo's calf and reached out his forepaw to catch the clothes fluttering in the wind. Shizuo lit another cigarette and crouched on the grass to make the cat play with one of Izaya's socks. He lifted and lowered the black fabric to see Alfred leaping and bouncing and waving his thin tail back and forth. He grinned every time Alfred's claws grabbed the sock. To a particularly spectacular jump, Shizuo turned toward the bedroom's window, exclaiming: "Oi, 'zaya! Did you--" only to stop when he saw Izaya wasn't there as usual. 

When Shizuo came back in the bedroom, Izaya was still doing the exercises Shinra prescribed him, instead of sitting near the window doing what he called _human observation_. This afternoon, Izaya's forehead was shaded with dark clouds from physical pain and, maybe, concern over his panic attack. _Because that was a panic attack, right?_ Most probably it was out of concentration or resentment about yesterday evening, but Izaya's gaze never fell on Shizuo when the latter decided to lay on the bed to take a nap before preparing dinner and go to work. 

Shizuo fell asleep to the thought that, at least today Izaya wasn't studying his beloved humans like they were goldfish in an aquarium. Though, sometimes, Shizuo wondered if it was Izaya the one trapped in a glass prison, reducing himself to be a mere observer of the life flowing outside his self-imposed cage -- preferring loneliness. 

After a while, Shizuo woke up with both his stomach and left side warmed-up. 

Alfred was a tight ball on his belly \-- the cat had toddled in through the door left ajar while Shizuo was already sleeping -- and Izaya was curled up, sound asleep, his back brushing Shizuo's side. Shizuo smiled, and his fingers found their way through both black fur and black hair, being careful enough to neither wake nor hurt them. Soon, the twirling of his fingers slowed down and he would have napped again, if the doorbell hadn't broken his half-asleep state. When he rose, Alfred mewled and trotted out of the door. Despite being a light sleeper, Izaya didn't wake. 

"Hi, Shizuo-kun! Is Izaya-kun fine?" Shinra greeted him when Shizuo opened the main door. 

Shizuo hinted a nod as the doctor crossed the threshold. "He wanted to talk with you. He's sleeping right now, though. Today he tried walking -- it went better than yesterday."

"Great! I'm glad to hear he's doing fine. If he's motivated and keeps doing his exercises, soon he'll be able to walk without the crutches. Did he tell you what happened yesterday to make him act that way?"

Shizuo shook his head. "No. He says he's fine but... I don't know. At least he didn't try to run away or laughed like that anymore."

"Oh, I see... Come on, don't make that face, Shizuo-kun! He'll be fine!" Shinra said while patting Shizuo's shoulder. "I'll try talking to him later on, when he wakes. By the way, I managed to organize a day out to take his mind off his rehabilitation problems. Today, I met Kyouko-san's father, and he was ranting that he doesn't have spare time to go fishing with his boat and -- _eureka!_ \-- I realized this is exactly what Izaya-kun needs!" 

"Going fishing?!"

"No, no, no! A boat trip! A whole day outside, away from that creepy human-watching habit of his! You know, Shizuo-kun, there are beautiful places near this village, unreachable without a boat -- we'll carry him there! Exploration, adventure... How amazing! You'll see, you'll have fun too!"

"Ahem, I would really like to come but..." Shizuo paused. “Tomorrow I promised to help Kyouko-san with the shop -- Y'know, with the supplies--"

"She'll come with us!" Shinra beamed. "Her father will lend us the boat and she knows how to drive it! Perfect, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I think it’s a good idea. If she's fine with that, it's okay, I guess -- Ah, Shinra! Another thing..."

"Hmm?" 

Shizuo scratched the back of his head. "I need to go to work soon... If it's not a problem, would you try talking with Izaya this evening? I think he kinda likes talking with you. It's fine if you don't tell me what happened yesterday, I mean, I -- I just wanna be sure he's fine. That's all."

"Yeah," Shinra replied, softly. "Don't worry about that."

*

Izaya woke up from dreams of shadows and smoke to an empty bed. Muffled by the drowsiness, he heard the faint sound of ceramic clinking, along with the approach of heavy footsteps. He curled up even more and squeezed his eyes shut when the mattress shifted.

"Flea."

It was just a whisper, a breath of air tickling Izaya's ear. Shizuo was close, strong body looming over his. 

"Izaya, wake up. Dinner's ready. And also--" Shizuo's lips stretched in a smile across Izaya's skin. He breathed: "Guess what..."

Shizuo's mouth lingered on Izaya's earlobe, brushing it in an unintended attempt at seducing him. With a jerk, Izaya opened his eyes and turned toward the man leaning on him. Few inches over his face, Shizuo's hazel eyes gleamed.

"Shinra came here -- ah, don't worry, he said he'll be back soon!" Izaya sharpened his eyes, trying to understand why Shizuo looked so excited. "Izaya, tomorrow we'll go on a boat trip!"

"...Eh? Why?"

"Shinra suggested it! He's a doctor and he said you need it... I don't know why, but he surely knows better, right?"

Under him, Izaya smirked. "A boat trip, ne? It isn't a bad idea -- but did you forget you have to go at the bakery shop?"

Shizuo's lips curled up in a sincere smile. "Kyouko-san will come with us!"

Izaya turned his head sideways at the words, like they had hit him like a blow straight in the face. _You monster_ , he thought. _You devil!_

"Hmm, it seems that I don't have a choice." The corners of Izaya's mouth quirked up in a sinister smile. "Can't you go alone, Shizu-chan? Do you think you'll miss me too much--"

"OF COURSE NOT!"

Izaya found it amusing, how easy it was to change Shizuo's mood with just the right word choice. Or, even better than words was when it was Izaya's facial expressions that ended up being the true catalyst for unleashing the beast's anger. Shizuo was all steamed up now, red from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, fists clenching the sheets. 

"Don't piss me off, flea," he thundered. "You'll come, at least for a day you'll take a break from that fucking hobby of yours."

In the attempt to keep all the shards of his masks in their place, Izaya began giggling. Realizing that it wasn't enough to awake the monster asleep under Shizuo's skin, he arched his back in the sheets and burst into a hysterical laughter, the same Shizuo hated so much that Izaya swore, one day, Shizuo would succeed in killing him with his dreadful gaze alone.

Once again, he miscalculated. 

What Shizuo did instead left him shocked.

Really, Izaya couldn't fathom the blond monster, at all.


	13. Multiverse

Celty Sturluson wondered if she had been human in her past life. __

The night she had decided to spare two men's lives, awkward questions lingered somewhere in the thin air above her neck -- _Where did I already met them? When and how it happened?_ _What relationship there was between me and them?_

_ What if I've lived with humans in my past life? _

_ What if there's another me out there, far away in the universe, who's living among humans? _

Celty had denied her very nature as a spirit of death for the sake of something ephemeral, the _sensation_ related to memories that didn't belong to her past, her present and, surely, not to her future.She had always lived in a small cottage near a stream in the depths of the wild lands, and her life as Dullahan was supposed to be a monotonous string of days, all the same. The seasons had passed by, over and over under the same changing skies, and she wandered and killed, and waited. Little by little, moments merged together in her memories until she couldn't distinguish anymore if the fact she was remembering had taken place days ago or if it was long gone. She couldn't even establish how much time had passed since she saw the two men -- probably a lot, and both of them had already died before she could establish if a bond had ever existed between her and them. 

Though days passed by, the sense of deja vu didn't. It nestled in her chest instead, tightening her already shriveled heart. The smoke from her severed neck came out faster, viscous, rolling like thunderstorm clouds. Confusion about her existence came soon after, leaving her drunk with questions: _Who am I? Where do I come from? Where am I going?_ Her fingers crossed on her chest as questions emerged. Like old relics buried in the abysses of her existence, doubts came to surface, unexpected, unsettling, shocking. It was as though the decision she took that night had severed the delimitations of her soul. As result, doubts flowed out, messily, like water from a collapsed dam.

Celty wished she had someone she could talk to beside her own conscience, someone who could give her answers or, at least, that could find words convincing enough to make her continue with her life as Dullahan, as if nothing had happened. However, hills and forests and wild animals lived unaware of her inner turmoil, and the sky hadn't words to give her beside the rumbling of thunder far in the distance and the pouring rain. Her headless horse, Shooter, was a loyal companion, but Celty couldn't communicate with him beside some basic instructions like _good Shooter,_ _quiet_ or _let's go_. 

 

Today, the warm sunset light seeped through the small windows of her living room. Celty's severed head lay on the table, as thought it was a creepy centerpiece, reddish-brown strands gleaming like copper wires.Eyelids were half-closed over an unmoved gaze, lips slightly parted. Lack of blood aside, the room looked like the scene of a macabre homicide and, even if she had always been headless, she felt as though she had been decapitated for real. _I've told you. You must have killed them,_ Celty's head was supposed to say. Instead, it was silent as though asleep. 

Celty dreaded the bond with her head had somehow been damaged after her decision to overlook her duty to kill every human who would cross her path. 

She wondered what the scope of her existence now was, and what she was supposed to do with her life. 

Inside her cottage, surrounded by a stillness broken only by the stream flowing, bird chirping outside, and a sporadic horse's neigh, she waited for the train of thought to slow down. 

Today, Celty felt the uncertainty of life overburdening her immortal body and the curiosity of what lay over known horizons overcame the ancestral fear that prevented her from approaching the humans' world. She stood up, grabbed her severed head and galloped away on her coach.

The sun dove beyond the hooded hills, casting orange light on infinite fields and thick forests, and a starry night took its place. The wind blew, gently bending the treetops and the stems of vegetation. The backdrop of night was studded with stars, but Celty didn't look at them. Perhaps, far away in the darkness between the visible stars, her other self was looking toward her, crossing a distance of billions and billions light years through something that Celty could explain only as a _connection_. It felt so real she could almost touch it -- the invisible wire that had been wrapped across her heart. Someone far away in the universe pulled it. She nudged Shooter to gallop faster.

The landscape changed around her, over and over, but Celty didn't avert her gaze from the sky above her, searching for clues, searching for truth. She lowered her gaze only when, beyond a hooded hill, the sky became illuminated by something else than stars -- a halo that Celty usually identified as the humans' world. She had never approached it before, because she was meant to kill in the wild lands, as though to protect the sacredness of the place. For this reason, if she wanted to reach the place where humans lived, she was supposed to leave her head here with Shooter, just in case it no longer slumbered. 

For the first time in many days -- _or years? or centuries?_ \--  Celty was thankful her head was asleep. Otherwise, every ounce of courage would miserably crumble under the voice of reason imploring her to go back, deep into the uninhabited lands. 

She dismounted from the coach. Shooter neighed softly when she patted his neck before delving in the forest covering the hill. Holding the hem of her black skirt with one hand and parting the branches with the other, she reached the top. From here, the dark forest gradually faded into human dwellings and, then, into the pitch black of the sea. 

A rope pressed on Celty's stomach when she started to climb down the hill. It was thick, adorned with white rectangular shapes that rocked in the wind like oddly shaped leaves. She crossed it.

In the woods, her steps weren't audible above the slight breeze seeping through the trees. She walked through the remaining part of the forest that covered the hill, towards the human village. A path made of an even, dark stone appeared in the distance; it was large, artificially enlightened. Between her and the street there were few rows of trees and something Celty couldn't quite identify \-- four identical pillars made of wood formed a canopy and, between them, there was a table. It was different, bigger than Celty's one, with benches instead than chairs. 

Her shadow preempted her steps, wandering through the trees like an opaque stream. Celty followed immediately after, her steps light on the ground that was switching from the thick undergrowth to tender, short grass. 

She was crossing the gazebo when she realized she wasn't alone.

Several feet at her left, stood a man. He couldn't see her, since his back faced her. He was tall, and something in his broad shoulders and golden hair felt familiar. It reminded Celty of someone she had known, someone she had looked so many times walking away. The man wore a white t-shirt, and that sounded unexplainably awkward to her. Through her invisible brain flashed blurred images of that same back, but it was clad in a black vest and a white shirt. The forest seemed too strange around this man, because she remembered him being surrounded by people and grey, tall buildings. The silence, too, didn't fit the space around him, and she could almost hear the loud noises that usually enveloped him -- people chatting, wheels rolling, horns screaming like seagulls. They engulfed the sound of his steps as he took his leave, hand raised, a cigarette between index and middle finger. It was just a mumble: _"See you next time, Celty."_

Celty knew how her name rolled off his tongue. 

She remembered how _Shizuo_ spoke to her _._

Suddenly, Shizuo spoke: "Izaya! What the hell is happening-- Izaya! Talk to me!"

Scarlet eyes pierced Celty like a lightning streaks a tree. 

If Celty had been gifted with a mouth, she would have screamed her lungs out. But there wasn't a head attached to her neck, there was just void and dark smoke which now flowed out in branches of shadows that vaulted across her body like an enraged swam. Under it, she was as though petrified.

"W-what the fuck! Izaya!" Shizuo thundered. "IZAYA!"

Celty turned. She ran away from those eyes, red as dried blood. Deep in her guts she knew they were dangerous, the light in them was as sharp as a dagger. She ignored the reason why she had never liked them, but she was glad her instinct had suggested to distance herself because the laugh she heard now was chilling, metallic, _evil_. It froze her whole body through her empty veins. 

While terror forced her to decide whether to delve into the village or go back to her cottage in the wild lands, curiosity kept her feet in motion. She needed answers. She needed to see and touch and feel that what lay between her and the humans there weren't bonds, that they were meant to live in two different worlds, that she should just forget what she had _felt_.  Izaya's laugh echoed at her back as she distanced herself, swift and silent like the breeze, downhill, toward the village. Her shadow curled across her neck, crafting a hood of shadows, thick like wool, black as a starless sky. 

There was nobody in sight beside a lone, white-clad man in the distance, walking in the opposite direction. 

Celty's smoke overflowed, curls of spiraling shadows escaping the hood. She averted her gaze as the man came closer. The sound of the human's steps was louder than hers, a constant _thump_ of leather soles on asphalt. As though she was holding her breath,  Celty kept her shadows from spilling out from the makeshift hood when she passed him. 

The man stopped walking. 

"Wait," he said. 

*

The change was immediate. A delicate balance had just crumbled because of a single word uttered out of impulse. The black-clad, hooded figure stopped walking. Breath caught in Shinra's throat. He blinked, trying to distinguish reality from dream. 

The mysterious creature was facing him, an index finger pointing at Shinra's face. It was so translucent and radiant that it looked as though it had sucked light right from the moon itself. From the slight curve of the breast, the figure was distinguishable as a woman; from the darkness and the trail of smoke coming from under her hood, she _couldn't_ be human. 

He smiled.

Shinra had recognized her. He had always believed they were bound by fate, destined to be together even though they were human and immortal spirit -- even if she probably didn't know it yet. Shinra surged forward, instinct demanding to grab her hands to keep her from escaping him. 

He was going to whisper how much he had desired to meet her, that since he had seen her for the first time, she had always been the object of his thoughts and dreams, when a shout resounded in the air. 

Shinra recognized Izaya's name in it, screamed loud and feral by Shizuo's voice. Both of them jerked, she much probably out of surprise, Shinra because he had just seized her wrist, with a firm grip.

"Come with me," he whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to protect you."

The resistance he expected didn't came. She followed him uphill, and she let him guide her into his house. Her wrist was pale and cold and lacked the ticking pulse of the living being. Her steps were as light as a bird's, the sound of her breath was absent. But she was _real_. Once she crossed the threshold,  Shinra locked the door at her back and turned on the living room's lights. 

When he released her wrist, the headless woman crossed her fingers above her breast, as though she was praying. "Come here," he said, and guided her toward the couch where they sat side by side. "By the way, I'm Shinra."

The woman turned toward him with a sudden jerk. The artificial lights of his living room bad concealed what lay under her hood, and Shinra observed the trail of black smoke flowing out of her severed neck. _Of course she can't reply,_ he thought.

He lifted from the sofa and handed her a pen and a notebook. The hesitation in her fingers made him dread that she spoke a different language from his own or, perhaps, she couldn't write. When the woman started writing, Shinra leaned in, amazed.

_ Celty _ _. _

A smile reached his eyes. He lifted his hand to shake. "Pleased to meet you, Celty\--"

The doorbell rang, breaking a moment of promise. 

At his side, Shinra felt the headless woman stiffening as a baritone voice had just resounded from behind the closed door: "Shinra?"

Shinra seized her hand, holding her so tight he feared to hurt her. He waited.

The doorbell rang again. "Shinra? I'm sorry -- _ouch!_ \-- I think I need your help!"

Shinra didn't open the door.

He was aware it was selfish. He didn't care. He would do anything, even deny his duty as a doctor, even fighting the whole world, if that meant preventing Celty from bolting. He let Shizuo's steps fade, he let them be swallowed by the night and he blessed the silence that came afterwards. She was more important than anything, and anyone. He wouldn't let her go. Never.

"Don't worry, you're safe here," he breathed.

It took a while before Celty began writing again, but when she did it, her hand moved fast. Shinra leaned closer, just to read, written in sloppy words:

_ I don't know why I'm here. _

Shinra just nodded.

_ I don't know who I am anymore. _

From the way tendrils of smoke danced above her head, Shinra read that she was in a deep turmoil. Probably it was referred to the absence of the severed head that Celty was supposed to bring with her. Shinra thought that, without it, Celty wasn't so different from him anymore.

_ I don't know why, I have visions of-- _

She wavered for a moment, before her right hand restarted to write, fast as though she was in a hurry.

_ I don't know if they belong to my past life, or if they're visions of the other me who lives far away... _

Her fingers trembled, before she wrote:

_ I'm scared! _

Shinra went wide-eyed. "Tell me more," he said. 

_ I can't quite describe them. They're messy, I can't understand them. They're sensation of knowing people, knowing voices, knowing humans.  _

_ The voice from before... I've already heard it! I think... _

She stopped, probably pondering on the word choice.

_ I think I was fond of that man.  _

Shinra had to fight a wave of possessiveness as it rose within him, managing to remain silent, but barely. 

_ Do you think it's possible that another me exists, somewhere else? Do you think it's possible that I'm feeling that the other me feels? Are those feelings...  _ real _?_

She turned the page. In the blank paper she wrote: 

_ You. _

_ I don't know where, or when... But in a past life, or in another universe, we lived together -- We were... I... _

Her hand stopped. Shinra found himself unable to breathe until she would finish the sentence.

Then, something shifted in the smoke under the hood: a decision.

_...I loved you. _

*

"Multiverse," Izaya explained, even though Shinra wasn't quite listening, just looking outside, his eyes gleaming. 

"Probably, beyond our universe, lie other universes with different physical laws, different physical constants--" Izaya shrugged, then continued talking: "Different relationships, I guess? It's interesting that she can communicate with herself from another universe, indeed..."

"She's beautiful," Shinra whispered. "The most beautiful being I've even seen, even more beautiful than I remembered."

Izaya raised an eyebrow. "And she even said you were lovers. Did she say why she didn't bring the head with her?"

Once again, Shinra ignored him. 

The doctor had just told him that the Dullahan Izaya had seen in the forest was named Celty. If Izaya hadn't seen her himself, he would have never believed Shinra's words. A Dullahan, without the head under her arm, visiting their village? It sounded absurd. In the end, before Shinra could stop her from rejoining her head, she disappeared in the dead of night, leaving behind just a notebook filled with words related to a reality that didn't belong to this world. 

"Tomorrow, I'll bring you to someone who has seen her too. I want you to see her properly," Shinra said. "Ah, I want to see her again--"

_ I want to see her too, Shinra. _

"I see. Didn't she tell you where she lives so you can join her?"

Shinra shook his head. "I must discover it."

Izaya thought he had been lucky, after all. The headless woman hadn't brought the head with her yesterday evening, so she couldn't ferry him to Valhalla calling his name, but if Shinra needed to find her too -- with this same, desperate need -- things would prove to be easier than he expected. Izaya could use Shinra to reach her. 

He was going to exhale a breath of relief, when Shinra said something that shook Izaya into his very core: 

"I want to make her human."

This words, said with nonchalance, hit Izaya like a blow straight in the face. They brought him back to hell. His brows knitted as he breathed: "What do you mean?" 

"I need to severe her head," Shinra said, terribly conversational. In his voice there was that trademark cheerfulness that made his words even creepier: "I mean, I need to severe the bond between her and the head. It's the head who called her back, it's the head who makes her kill humans. I must _free her_ so we can live together like she saw in her visions."

"Don't you think that she's going to be mad at you for that?"

"She probably will be," Shinra replied, shrugging. "But I'm sure she'll forgive me."

"How can you be so sure?" 

"Someone so perfect as Celty must be merciful as well, right?" 

Izaya exhaled, and drank the last sip of his already cold soup from the dinner Shizuo had prepared him, that they were _supposed_ to be eating together.

"You're idealizing her." Izaya started poking a slice of grilled beef. "You said you've seen her two times in your whole life -- three if we include yesterday evening! And between the first time to the second twenty years had passed -- You said you fell in love with her when you were four! You don't know anything about her, Shinra."

For a while, Shinra didn't spoke. Then, he replied with a question:

"Do you believe in love at first sight, Izaya-kun?" 

Izaya tilted his head back, lips stretched in the smirk he crafted exactly when the layer of rationality protecting his heart felt brittle, thin as an eggshell. "I don't," he replied, without a hint of uncertainty. 

Yet, an old memory had resurfaced, and now it kept poking him like a pebble in a shoe -- the smell of dusty curtains from his room back in the Military Academy, himself when he was sixteen, the palm of his hand pressed against a cold window glass. Outside, a blond-haired boy fought against two dozen of his seniors, his feet flickering, fast as though he was performing a dance, his punches unerring. He sent men twice his weight flying across the air and then twitching on the ground. One after another, they were all doomed to fall. Soon the fight was over; the boy was the only one still standing. It was as though physical laws changed for everyone who approached him -- they found themselves flying as though there was no gravity bounding their feet to the ground, and the time had flowed too fast for every attempt of self defense. Most likely, reality had warped for Izaya too, because he was dizzy, too shocked and mesmerized to divert his own gaze from him. He felt a pull toward the blond-haired boy, like metal to a magnet, and he just wanted, _needed_ to meet him. He swallowed. 

The sharp sun caught in the boy's hair, a flash of gold gleamed across the grey soil, like a miracle. 

Like a curse.

*

Izaya exhaled a breath of relief when Shinra finally took his leave. He’d had enough of the doctor's ramblings about a headless woman that, in her incomplete form, didn't induce even a grain of concern in him. He didn't care what happened to Shinra yesterday evening, or how he thought the Dullahan won't hate him for cutting the bond with her head. He was only interested in few questions: When would he meet her again so she could open the gate of Valhalla for him? Where could he find her? And, finally, how could he discover such place before Shinra made her unable to call his name?

He had just started enjoying solitude, pondering about how much time he needed to begin walking on his own, when something out of the window caught his attention -- the silhouette of a dark-haired woman dressed in yellow and pink. He recognized her as the bakery shop lady; _Kyouko_ _-san,_ as the beast was used to call her. 

Wherever he said her name, Shizuo's voice came out like velvet, low-pitched, a thunder across a dark sky. There was fondness wrung from the depths of his heart, when the monster had said, few hours before: _" Kyouko-san will come with us!"_

When Shizuo's words had reached him, at first, Izaya didn't feel anything. 

Then, Izaya remembered, he had laughed, and laughed, and laughed. What happened next was doomed to remain too blurry in his memories, too surreal. 

A monster wouldn't have ever responded that way to Izaya's laugh.

*

When Shizuo had leaned on him, it was as though he had just put the whole world in a momentary parenthesis. No sound came from the outside, the village was asleep like when Shizuo came back from work late at night. The wind didn’t carry the smell of salt and molded lawn anymore -- everything had been put under a spell. Probably, Izaya had been bewitched too, because he smelt nothing but the soap from Shizuo's t-shirt, lavender on his blond strands, faint tobacco on his breath, the scent coming from his honeyed skin, hot and sweet. The universe stopped expanding, wheels of time ceased their turns, and space reduced to their breaths. Shizuo was on top of him, the palm of his hands on Izaya's forearms, keeping him still but without being forceful, like he caressed a willow branch, bending it with barely more pressure than the breeze. 

It was too late when Izaya had realized that he wasn't pretending to laugh anymore. He was just drinking Shizuo's image in -- his blond hair, shining like thin, golden necklaces, the color of his eyes, his dark pink lips, moistened, juicy like plump fruits that Izaya wanted to bite. 

Shizuo's hands shifted up, thumbs brushing the same pale wrists he had once sprained out of violence. Once Izaya and he were palm to palm, slowly, Shizuo intertwined their fingers. The hold was firm and warm, impossible to ignore, as though Shizuo had just crucified him on the sheets. Shizuo's fingers curled, fingertips resting on the back of Izaya's hands --a sensation that was no longer as foreign as it should be. Yet, Izaya knew that he _must_ break free, because the rush of excitement he felt now would bring him transcend his rationality, pushing him further.

He needed to escape but, _once again_ , he couldn't do it. 

Izaya was a man gifted with rationality, but his determination would break like waves on rocks when it came face to face with his inner desires. Izaya would have shivered if he had allowed himself to, just thinking at Shizuo's raw violence awakening and swallowing him whole. His nerves sang in the anticipation of pain. His monster's hate, Izaya needed all of it, pure, without pity as filter, deep into his core. 

_ Hurt me _ , he wanted to say. 

Though, there wasn't a hint of violence or a glimpse of rage in Shizuo's face before he buried it in the crook of Izaya's neck. Chests brushed and Shizuo's weight settled on him, hips between Izaya's thighs, tangling their bodies together. 

For a long moment, Shizuo stood still, just breathing slowly, the tip of his nose resting on Izaya's neck. Suddenly his hold on Izaya's fingers tightened, and he lifted his head a bit, enough to let his lips linger on Izaya's jaw. 

Shizuo kissed his cheek.

The kiss was barely suggested, soft, with no sound besides Izaya's frantic pulse striking his skin. 

Shizuo drew a sharp breath, as though he was going to say something. When Izaya turned his head toward him, Shizuo's lips lay a hairsbreadth from his own. Izaya could feel his breath, the sweetness of it, the warmth, and his lips parted to drink all of it. He shouldn't desire it, but he did, the yearning was painful, overpowering. Rationality reduced to a background sound, shouting at him to stop, and when he could see his own image reflected in Shizuo's eyes, it fell silent, annihilated. 

_ More. _

Shizuo's eyes widened and he jerked away. 

"...Work," Shizuo had muttered, lifting from the bed. He put on his bartender uniform with the speed of a quick-change artist, his back facing Izaya. He didn't even lose time knotting the necktie as Izaya had taught him. He dashed out of the room, leaving the dinner he had prepared for both of them untouched. Izaya heard him stomping downstairs and closing the door at his back with a loud thump. When Shizuo ran down the hill, Izaya realized the sounds of the outer world had come back. The spell was broken.

Izaya exhaled and lifted himself to a sitting position. 

He grabbed the crutches and headed toward the small table where Shizuo had left the dinner -- soup, rice and grilled beef. It smelled very good. Even if, most probably, the soup was too salty for Izaya's own taste, as usual. He grabbed the bowl, feeling the warmth seeping through his fingers.

He took a sip, and turned his head sideways, grimacing.

_ Too salty. _

Izaya had repeated to himself he felt great -- soup aside, of course. 

He really felt great! 

That little... _thing_ with  Shizuo hadn't bothered him, at all. __

*

Kyouko disappeared behind a door, now closed, and Izaya carefully wiped any trace of emotion from his face. 

He stood up. 

The rhythmic thump of the crutches on the wooden floor sounded distant, from another reality. He turned on the shower jet and got undressed.

He stepped in the shower, welcoming the sting of pain from his healing knee. 

Cold water fell on him and he stood motionless, bangs almost hiding his half-lidded eyes and his blank stare, glued on an indefinite spot on the light-blue tiles. He breathed softly, letting rivulets of water skim his lips and gliding down his chest. 

Slowly, as if to pretend it wasn't happening, his hand shifted between his thighs. Shame rose in his chest, not for the action itself, but for the thoughts that came with it. Though, better to be ashamed of himself now than tonight, when Shizuo would search for his hand. Better now than when Shizuo would embrace him again. 

He closed his eyes, and felt again the chaste touch of Shizuo's lips on his cheek.

Water drops poured frozen on him, but he blessed them. If they were the way to forget the monster's heat so be it. He didn't want to remember, he didn't want to think of how Shizuo's chest would feel on his back right now. Shizuo would hug him from behind and Izaya would turn his head to kiss Shizuo's neck again. It was easy imagining it, he remembered the taste of Shizuo's skin even too accurately -- the slight saltiness and the sweetness under it, the way the beast's heartbeat had sped up when Izaya's tongue curled across his Adam's apple. Izaya wanted to kiss him again, until other marks would bloom on his tanned skin.

A thin, vertical wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows.

It was too vivid, he knew those sensation far too well. The only thing he didn't know was how Shizuo's hand would feel moving from Izaya's chest down to his stomach, rising and falling with his quickening heartbeat, and then down again, to wrap around his cock. 

Izaya tightened his own hold. 

Probably, Shizuo would touch him with a serious grip, making a drop forming at the tip before pulling down the foreskin, and then he would stroke him, changing the rhythm, until he would find the one Izaya enjoyed the most, and then-- 

Shizuo's name blew through him, wiping away his defenses until he was hopeless, lost, unmade. 

Breaths shattered on Izaya's lips, and his hand was ceaseless.

The flat of his fingernail teased the slit and the slight pain made him feel the shift in his body towards orgasm. Memories came in waves, inconsequential sparks of images and scents and sounds -- The curve of a bare hip in the moonlight, the smell of the sea on tanned skin, a whisper saying Izaya's name. He bit his lower lip, and came.

 

Gradually, he became aware of his frantic heartbeat, and the ache in his leg, and the still pouring water, washing away white ribbons. He turned his head sideways, smiling bitterly at the realization that there was no water and no soap and nothing in the universe that could wash away Shizuo from himself. 

Memories fade, without fail. 

Shizuo wouldn’t. Shizuo would haunt him until his last breath, as something Izaya could never escape. 

Shizuo's voice saying _her_ name played in  Izaya's ear, over and over again. Yet, Izaya refused to categorize the feeling squeezing his heart. It was like rage, the way it billowed in his chest. He couldn't push it back, it gathered inside of him until he struggled to get a solid breath. 

The shower tiles creaked under his fist, a thin web bloomed from where his knuckles had landed.

He swore.


	14. Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thank you so much for still reading my fic! I know I'm veeery late -- gosh, it's almost February already! -- but I still wanted to wish you a happy New Year! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter ^^! Last but not least, a special thanks goes to all of you who left me a comment (THANK YOUUU!! I'm lame and I always reply to your comments in such a shitty way, but really, they make me SO happy) and to my friend Su! Thank you again for reading! See ya!

"I’m so boooored!" Izaya whined from beneath the orange flowery shirt covering his head and half-hiding his face. "And Shizu-chan's shirt is all sweaty! So gross!" 

Shizuo stood alone on the deck of the boat, turning a deaf ear to Izaya's provocations. He wore his trademark sunglasses and a pair of blue swimming trunks that he and Izaya had found in a bargain bin at the minimart. He stared at the sea, wind in his hair and hands on his hips, in a position that reminded Izaya of the parody of a proud Viking or, much likely, an overexcited puppy. 

Izaya giggled at his own thoughts, but they were far from enough to keep him entertained. 

"Well, next time, maybe you should wear a hat if you're bothered by the sun, don’t you think, Izaya-kun?" Shinra chirped. The doctor patted his shoulder and went back to the idle, _boring_ , chat with Kyouko about her father and his passion for fishing. 

Despite the fact that they had left the harbor half a hour ago, the shore was still visible at Izaya's back; the hill glistened with the sparkles of sunrays hitting metal surfaces and, near the lighthouse, the boats cradled in the waves. If he watched closely enough, he could still catch a glimpse of his beloved humans walking down the streets. That was the place Izaya wanted to be, and he would have fought for returning home _if_ _only_ curiosity hadn't kept him from complaining enough to convince his travel buddies to do an about face -- on the island where they were headed lived another person who had seen a Dullahan. 

Izaya hoped that the information he would find there would justify the heat sinking into his black hair and itching his fair skin even though he wore sunscreen. The side, the back, and the seat of the boat were uncomfortably warm and the knot in his stomach very probably meant he was about to be seasick, too. To add insult to injury, that _spit_ of land they needed reach was still blended with the blue line marking the curve of the horizon. Sick and tired, he pulled out the Swiss Army knife  Shizuo had bought him one month ago, and started filing his already manicured nails to keep himself busy and, mostly, to try to ignore that the only thing around him was dark ripples. 

It unsettled him, sailing in blue water with an old boat not much bigger than a bath tub, since he had no idea how to swim. After all, Izaya thought, he had the skills to be a strategist, not a fisherman. Besides, after one month they went to the seaside almost every day, neither him and Shizuo had ever swam in the sea. 

Sizing Shizuo up, Izaya tried to guess if the beast had been taught how to swim when he was a kid. 

Despite his efforts, Izaya didn't know much about Shizuo's past, since nobody had even a shred of information about the Heiwajima brothers. It frustrated him to no end, this lack of knowledge about Shizuo's childhood. Knowing someone's life and times meant having them at his mercy, right? Information is power, after all. Instead, it was as though, one winter night, Shizuo and his little brother appeared out of nowhere in front of the Military Academy, knocking at the door and begging to let them come in. 

Witnesses had always referred to the Shizuo of that night _as the blond kid with inhuman strength_ but, just with a quick glance,  Izaya understood that Shizuo wasn't a natural blond. Through his binoculars, Izaya saw that his hair roots were chocolate brown, of a lighter and warmer color than his brother's. Shizuo's choice to spend the little money he had to buy hair dye had always fascinated Izaya. To a superficial observer, it looked just like a selfish way to show off, since blond hair really suited that monster, but Izaya was used to pay attention to details. To him, that particular one whispered _everything_. 

It was a desperate warning.

The glistening gold of his strands, rare in their lands full of dark-haired people, was Shizuo's silent shout to keep everybody away. His hair was the way Shizuo choose to warn the whole world that he was different, dangerous, an aberration. Shizuo was aware that he was a monster, and Izaya's insults were nothing more than the manifestation of his own thoughts. What Izaya called him couldn't hurt him more than his own self-hatred.

_ You're not human, Shizu-chan.  _

_ You were a monster. _

_ This is the reason why I will  _ never _love you._

There was no need for Izaya to remind him _what_ he was --  Shizuo had coiled the word _monster_ around each DNA helix in his cells and engraved it into his conscience. 

Pushing the orange flowery shirt aside, Izaya studied the way Shizuo's fingers brushed across the curve of his neck. Izaya's hickies had faded from there, blending into the honeyed color of his skin until no trace was left. Shizuo intertwined his hands on the nape of his neck and Izaya breathed in, slowly, struggling to wade away the evidence that Shizuo's hands of destructions were used to pet their cat now, to prepare food, to wash Izaya's hair, to hold his hand. They were so gentle and hesitant now, almost caring. 

Izaya slid the shirt back on his face, breathing in Shizuo's scent.

_ And now?  _ He couldn't prevent himself from wondering.

_ What is Shizuo now?  _

*

Time flowed like pitch, unveiling bit by bit an island that looked like the miniature of the seaside where Izaya spent his afternoons in Shizuo's company. Nothing new under the sun. Hills covered in trees, water caressing the sandy shores. They docked the boat at an old wooden jetty, close to another ship, bigger than theirs and painted a deep mahogany color. 

When he finally had his feet on the ground, Izaya hissed: "Thank you so much, Shizu-chan." Not bothering to look at Shizuo in the eye, he threw the orange shirt back at him. Once again, Shizuo didn't respond.

After securing the boat at the mooring, they took a packed-earth path that meandered through the lush vegetation. Every now and then, the thick undergrowth swallowed every trace of it, so it felt as though they were explorers walking through a wild forest. A few steps were enough to make Izaya wonder: _How the hell could a doctor suggest_ this _as a relaxing trip for a patient still unable to walk on his own?_ The path was uphill, the protruding rocks and roots offered no steady support for the crutches and, already exhausted from the sunbath from before, Izaya couldn't help but constantly losing his balance.

"Izaya-kun, you can lean on me if you want to!" Shinra said, pouncing until he was in front of him. "I saw that you stumbled on that stone-- Oh, you almost slipped again. Mind the roots!" 

"I'm fine, Shinra. Just keep going," Izaya cut him short. 

"Would you let me help you, Izaya-san?" Kyouko asked few minutes after, leaning her hand on Izaya's shoulder ever so slightly.

"No, thank you. I'm just fine," he replied, wearing a polite smile.

"Come here, Izaya," Shizuo mumbled after a while, pinching Izaya's forearm.

Izaya snorted. __

This was what annoyed him the most, even more than baking in the sun. Of course he didn't _want_ a helping hand! Or, at least, he refused to lean on  Shinra, he couldn't bear his ramblings, nor on Kyouko, because small talk about their mutual, blond _friend_ was something Izaya would gladly avoid and, more than anything, not on Shizuo. Izaya didn't want to be helped, held, pitied by him anymore.

God, he even got off thinking of him, someone Izaya hated so much. The farther from Shizuo he was, right now, the better.

In the end, Shinra was the lesser evil. As he passed one arm across the doctor's shoulder and leaned on him, Izaya realized how different Shinra's body build was from Shizuo's. Shinra was shorter, so it was easier for Izaya to walk since he didn't dangle off the doctor, but he was also scrawny, his hands cold and bony. Shizuo was solid instead, his hold firm across Izaya's waist, almost bruising. Every now and then when he carried him, Shizuo would turn his head to the side to ask Izaya if he was all right. Izaya wasn’t able to see him then, because he preferred to not face Shizuo when they were so close, but he _felt_ him every time -- the intensity of his gaze, warm breath ticking his ear, his hold becoming even firmer just for an instant and making  Izaya's body feel hot.

The echo of Shizuo's deep voice made Izaya tilt his head up from the roots he was trying to avoid. 

He and Kyouko were dozens of step ahead, walking side by side. The path narrowed suddenly and their arms brushed. 

Izaya averted his gaze.

It was _so obvious_ that their feelings were mutual. After all, she was perfect for him, quiet and kind, rather motherly in her protective attitudes, with pleasant features without being eye-catching -- just the kind of older partner  Shizuo had always had a soft spot for. They were even friends now, and Shizuo helped her with the shop, from time to time. Last but not least, she was a woman.

Izaya wondered what would have happened between him and Shizuo, if only he hadn't been male. _Would our first meeting have been different? How would our relationship have been?_

_...Would have  Shizuo looked at me in a different way while he undressed and washed me? _

The thought felt like spreading kerosene on a flame -- it was enough to make him imagine how it would have been being a woman, naked in front of the man he hated the most. He fantasized about how Shizuo's body would look as he towered over him. Izaya imagined him devoid of the kindness that suited him so much now, a true monster, just how Izaya wanted him, with dark eyes, a terrible expression on his face as his calloused palms slid down Izaya's feminine body, cupping his breasts as though Shizuo had forgotten that he was just supposed to wash him in order to touch him instead. Shizuo's strength would hurt him even more if he were a woman, one who wasn’t a born fighter, his teeth would sink into his flesh, devouring him. And Izaya had to stop there, forcing control over his thoughts, because he refused to think how it would feel like to clench those broad shoulders as Shizuo moved inside of him.

Izaya found smirking hard when Shizuo turned and looked at him, as though the beast had just sensed his presence in Izaya's thoughts. Luckily, the corners of Izaya's mouth were used to stretch in a grin, like a reflex, regardless of his state of mind. Shizuo blinked, and for a moment his eyebrows darted up in surprise before he averted his gaze.

*

A lighthouse sat on the top of the hill, in a clearing surrounded by beech trees. It was a low building, with a cottage attached, both their walls painted light blue. The path they had been following from the jetty ended at a porch casting shadows on the entry door. Here, there was a wooden bench with colorful patchwork pillows, a half-full ashtray, and a sketchbook left open. The breeze made the pages flap, showing pencil drawings of the landscape visible from here: trees, clouds, and the sea glistening in the sharp sun.

Shinra rang the doorbell. There was a noise of approaching steps, then the door swung open and an old man appeared. He was short and thin, his eyes so heavily lidded that it looked as though he was asleep. His age was impossible to tell; most generously, he was in his late seventies, maybe older. His skin was leathery with prolonged sun exposition, heavily wrinkled, and the few hair escaping a black beret was grey and frizzy like cotton balls. As soon as he spotted them, the old man exclaimed: 

"Good God, if it isn't Kishitani Shinra!" 

"Good morning, Hamasaki-san!" Shinra said, hinting a bow. "I've brought the meds you need!"

"Hope you brought tobacco too, though." The man cracked one eye open to observe Shinra's travel companions. "Oh, there's Kyouko-chan, too. You sure grew a lot from the last time I've seen you. And who are those two boys?" 

"They're Izaya and Shizuo-kun, friends of mine -- very quiet guys," Shinra replied, with an admirable poker face. "Would you let us come in?"

"Sure," the old man replied, making way. When he invited them to come in, Izaya noticed Hamasaki's hands were bony and marked with protruding veins, but they lacked the tremors typical of old age. There was something elegant in them.

Izaya crossed the threshold and stepped into a narrow hallway. Here, the smell of sea gave way to the stronger stench of paint. Both walls were studded with canvases, from oil paintings to pencil portraits and charcoal sketches, arranged so close to each other that it was even difficult to guess what the wall color was. "Hamasaki-san was a street artist," Shinra clarified. "My father and I help him selling his paintings, since he’s lived alone on this island from thirty years already!"

Dark wooden floorboards creaked slightly under his crutches as Izaya walked through this awkward art gallery until he reached the living room. It was a small, pretty room with a blue couch in the middle where Shinra insisted that Izaya sat down.

"I'm here for a check too, you know?" Shinra said, letting his doctor bag fall on the wooden floor. 

"We’ll wait outside, Shinra," Kyouko said, heading back toward the door. Shizuo casted a sidelong glance at Izaya, before he followed her outside. 

Izaya grabbed the crutches, but Shinra stopped him by leaning his hand on Izaya's shoulder and whispering: "Stay."

The entry door closed and Shinra lifted his eyes from his doctor bag. "Hamasaki-san," Shinra said. "Izaya-kun has seen _her_ too."

Grey eyebrows darted up. Small, black eyes shone in the bright daylight seeping through the white linen curtains and Izaya realized he had just met another member of the Dullahan fan club. "Are you joking?" The old man breathed. 

Shinra shook his head. "The Dullahan came to our village two days ago."

"Did someone die?"

"No. She didn't have the severed head under her arm."

"Why--" Hamasaki paused. Izaya thought he was going to ask why the Dullahan didn't carry the head with her, just to realize there was something he wanted to know more. "How many people saw her?"

"Just Izaya-kun and me."

The old painter turned toward Izaya, his mouth opening and closing without uttering a single word, as though he was desperately trying to say a lot of things all in once and he couldn't decide which one to say firsts. Finally, he spoke. 

"Just a suggestion, young man. Never say you've seen her."

"It isn't a good idea, indeed," Shinra explained, while checking Hamasaki's blood pressure. "You know, that’s the reason he lives here. He showed the drawing he made after he had seen her and people got scared. There's plenty of superstitious people in a village so close to those haunted lands; they sent Hamasaki-san away saying he was a curse. You had been unable to walk on your own and didn't get to know the people who live there yet, beside Kyouko-san and me, but if someone spots a Dullahan and survives -- and that must not been taken for granted, now that I think of it -- we never say we've seen her. You can't even imagine how irrational people would get if you make them feel threatened."

Izaya nodded. "Understand. Not a soul will get to know what I've seen. Not even Shizu-chan."

Shinra paused, evaluating the situation. "Yeah," he said in the end. "Better keeping it a secret between me, you and Hamasaki-san."

"So nobody else knows about that Dullahan beside you two?" Izaya asked.

"No," Hamasaki said. "There is someone else."

_ Tanaka Tom _ , Izaya mentally replied to his own question, remembering Shizuo's words from one month ago: _"Tom-san said he had seen a _monster _in the wild lands."_ Gathering information from the beast's boss without making  Shizuo suspicious was difficult, since the beast was so astute at reading through Izaya's plans, to the point of being incredibly irritating. But if Shinra already knew what Tanaka Tom had seen, it would prove to be not quite a cakewalk, but still far easier than trying to gather information from someone much more confident with Shizuo than him . 

"There is someone else indeed," Shinra agreed.

_ Tanaka Tom.  _

Shinra exhaled, turning his head sideways.

_ Come on, Shinra. Say it. Tell me what Tanaka Tom has seen. _

Shinra closed the doctor bag and exhaled: "My father saw her too."

_...Eh? _

Izaya wore a face of utter nonchalance when he said: "Really, Shinra? How did that happen?"

Shinra tilted his chin up, and replied: "We were together, of course!" Izaya was going to say that wasn't a satisfying reply at all when Shinra changed the subject: "Anyway, can I show him your drawings, Hamasaki-san?" 

The old man nodded and hinted a sideboard. "First drawer," he said. 

Shinra opened it. He pulled out a white sketchbook with a metal spiral binding on one side and passed it to Izaya. When Izaya opened the first page, it greeted him a detailed pencil drawing of the Dullahan he had seen few days before. Under the woman's arm, instead of the head, there was a white halo.

"I can't really decide how to draw the head, though," the old man said. "So I can't bring myself to finish my drawings..."

"Nah." Shinra shrugged, as he leaned on the sketchbook to admire the Dullahan. "It's fine if you don't draw her head, Hamasaki-san. She's beautiful even without it."

The old man shook his head, brows knitted, as if Shinra had just said something that denied his nature as artist. "You're really a strange guy, aren't you?"

Izaya brushed the white halo under the Dullahan's arm, and felt a rush of adrenaline as the pad of his index finger caught on the erased pencil lines embossed in the paper. 

"It was summer when I saw her too. You know, young man, I think that there's a moment, somewhere in our life, that defines who we are. This is the reason why I keep drawing her, over and over, because I don't want to forget even a ruffle of her dress or how shadows curled across her figure."

The painter's voice broke and his chest heaved. 

"The moment I saw her is worth my entire existence."

*

Around noon, the weather broke.

Dark thunderclouds mounted from the North, carrying pouring rain. The wind howled and the sea was grey and white, in an uproar of long breaking waves. The trees swayed in a rustle of leaves. In haste, Izaya, Shizuo, Shinra and Kyouko gathered the picnic lunch and the blankets they brought from home and ran back to Hamasaki's house. The afternoon stretched before them inside the tiny cottage, hoping to see the sea calm again and the sun peeking from behind the backdrop of slate-colored clouds. 

The storm did pass, but the sun had already disappeared along with the ability to go back home today. Shizuo called Tanaka Tom, apologizing that he would miss his shift at the pub. Kyouko called her father saying to not wait her for dinner and asked him to leave some leftovers in Shizuo and Izaya's garden for their cat Alfred. Shinra was the one who made longer calls, while Izaya sat on the blue couch, doing crosswords.

"You're the handsomest young man I've ever seen in long time," Hamasaki said to Izaya during dinner. "Would you let me draw you? It won't take long."

Izaya agreed. He had nothing interesting to do, after all. Shizuo was clearing the table and washing dishes with Kyouko, while Shinra had disappeared with several sketchbooks he had taken from the cupboard. The best bet was that he was admiring his beloved _Celty_ in a dark corner of the house. 

Hamasaki made Izaya sit on the couch in the living room. The door was open, and on the hallway floor there was a blade of light coming from the kitchen alongside Shizuo and Kyouko's voices. Probably it was due to the sensation of being in someone else's house, but it was easy to imagine that this was _their_ home, and that silence  Izaya was hearing meant that Shizuo had just stopped talking to kiss her lips. He would kiss her again in their bedroom, drops of sweat glistening on his forehead in the dim, warm light of a bedside lamp.

Izaya swallowed.

"Is there something bothering you, young man?" Hamasaki asked. The old painter wasn't drawing anymore, his gaze fixed on Izaya.

Izaya smiled.

"I'm just tired."

It wasn't an utter lie. This strange day had tired him to no end, so Izaya felt relieved when Hamasaki finished the drawing and invited him to go to sleep. 

 

The house was small, there was only one guest room which Hamasaki insisted that they leave to Kyouko. Shizuo and Shinra curled up on the living room floor with blankets and pillows. Izaya took the blue couch. He was so tired he fell asleep immediately. 

He dreamt of a hallway, long and dark and cold as the ones in the manor where Izaya lived when he was a child. Though it was different, so high he couldn't see the ceiling, and it smelled not of floor cleaner but of the nauseating stench of burned flesh. The walls were pitch black with red sparkles here and there, crackling softly like logs on a fire. Black and white squares composed the floor pattern, with golden letters and numbers drawn near the closed doors overlooking the hallway. Izaya opened one of the doors, and entered a room. It had been painted white and it was artificially lit, since heavy, black curtains hid the only window. Izaya felt like he was suffocating, as though the air here was stale from age.

In the middle of the room there was a blue couch. Sitting on it was, a dark-haired, thin woman.

He approached her and she didn't move, as though she hadn't -- or _couldn't_ \-- seen him. Through the shadows of her bangs, her eyes were closed.

"Mother," he heard himself saying.

He leaned in and brushed her hand, which was hard and cold and lifeless like a marble chess piece. It raised inside of him a kind of blind desperation driven by the need to make her realize his presence. "Mother!" he repeated, his voice turning high-pitched like that of a child. His hands, too, had become smaller when he brushed both her cheeks to tilt her head up so she could look at him.

Her head rolled off, falling backwards on the black and white pattern of the floor with a deafening thump. From the severed neck came smoke instead of blood, thick and black, obliterating the view of the surroundings but for the head laying on the floor. 

Suddenly, the head awakened, its eyes were wide open and the lips stretched in a smile that showed sharp teeth, white over the inside of the mouth, red as an open wound. 

The head mouthed a name, _Shizuo_.

He screamed.

*

Izaya woke up, bolting upright, drenched in sweat and breathing hard through his nose. It took him a while to realize that he wasn't in his room back in the Military Academy nor in the bedroom he shared with Shizuo, but on a small, uncomfortable sofa in a house on a deserted island. 

Shinra snored in one corner of the room, curled up in a tartan blanket. Instead of being asleep on the floor, Shizuo sat with his back against the couch. He exhaled, and asked him: "Where is your mother, Izaya?" 

Izaya clicked his tongue. "Can't you sleep, Shizu-chan?"

"Is she waiting for you? I’ve never seen you making phone calls this whole month. Does she know you're alive?"

"It's none of your business." 

"You were calling for her in your sleep." Shizuo turned his head to face him. "You had a nightmare, right?"

Izaya shrugged. 

"Why are you here, Shizu-chan?" 

"Bad dreams," he drawled, while he rubbed his face and ruffled his bleached hair. "Now I can't fall asleep again."

"I see, so what do you want to do? Crosswords? Perhaps Hamasaki-san has a chessboard, who knows," Izaya mumbled, “I would love to thrash you, right now.”

"Hmm, wanna go for a walk?" 

Izaya thought that, all in all, it wasn't a bad idea -- he really needed a breath of fresh air since this stink of paint was making him nauseous, and he was definitely too shaken to fall asleep again. "Fine," he exhaled, draping a blanket over his shoulders. 

When he was about to grab the crutches, Shizuo stopped him by taking his hand. "You're gonna wake everyone if you use them," he whispered. "Come here!" Despite Izaya's reluctance to be held bridal style, Shizuo lifted him and carried him outside. 

A beam of light came from the lighthouse and swept across the clearing and the dark forest that stretched until the sea. Soft breezes stroked Izaya’s face, and he inhaled the salty smell deeply. Once they reached the woods, the air was damp and heavy, the crowns of leaves blotting oxygen together with the warm light coming from the lighthouse. 

"Pull out your knife, 'zaya,” Shizuo said as they delved deeper into the vegetation. “Can't see where I am going." 

The cone of light from the Swiss Army knife was ridiculously small, but it was still better than the light of the moon alone. Izaya thought it was unsettling being carried this way by Shizuo, in the dead of night into a wall of trees and brambles. It felt like deja vu. 

"I dreamt of him tonight," Shizuo said with a rough voice. Izaya knew what Shizuo was going to say now; he had always been at the other’s side when Shizuo woke up after a nightmare. Shizuo's brows furrowed, as though the words he was going to say now felt bitter on his tongue. "He burned before my eyes and I could do nothing to save him."

"Yeah, I know," Izaya replied, softly. 

"I want to kill them," Shizuo whispered in a brittle voice. 

"I know," Izaya murmured.

"How can I kill them, Izaya?" 

"Hmm, let’s see… Well, once you've crossed the wild lands and reached the place where we camped, you have to walk East, through corn fields and small country villages, until you find the wall shielding their Military Academy. It's about ten feet of bricks, with snipers on top ready to kill whomever approaches it without written consent." Shizuo's brows were knitted, and Izaya wondered if he was imagining being there, opening a hole in that wall with the sheer power of his punch alone. "Even if you pass through that wall, though, they're still gonna shoot you. No matter how fast you run, their bullets will reach you. They're trained for this purpose alone."

"I'll kill them before they do it. 'Sides, one or two bullets won't stop me."

_ Not if they hit you in the head _ , Izaya thought. _Not if they pierce your heart._

The realization came to him in waves, leaving him exposed to the truth that killing Shizuo was _so_ easy.  Izaya had always seen him like a superhuman being, like a fighting doll, like a monster but, in end, a shot in the head would be enough to make life leave his body forever. Izaya's fists curled into Shizuo's shirt. His heart stuttered, thoughts tripped over themselves in the awareness that, under the shadow of his blond hair, Shizuo looked _human_.

"Ah, just do whatever you want," Izaya exhaled, upper lip twitching into a smile. "I don't care if Shizu-chan dies. After you keep the promise you can do whatever you want."

“Yeah, I know that, _but_ \--“ Shizuo paused and his gaze fell on him, hoping Izaya could complete the sentence in his stead.

_ There’s no  _ but _, Shizu-chan, _Izaya thought. _If Shinra manages to sever the bond between that Dullahan and her head before she calls my name, if I can't become immortal, I--_

Izaya shook his head. "It’s not fair if you go back on you word,” he said, speaking slowly with a deeper tone of voice than usual. “I want you to be the one killing me, Shizu-chan. Not illness, not old age, not some random person.” He rested his fingers on Shizuo’s chest. “ _You_.”

Shizuo muttered under his breath words Izaya didn’t catch.

“Don’t worry, Shizu-chan,” Izaya chirped, his voice becoming louder and louder and higher pitched with every word he spoke. “It won’t take much of your time! With that strength of yours you will crush my skull in the twinkling of an eye or even less. Just imagine it -- _smash!_ ” A clap of hands emphasized the concept; a peal of laughter came immediately after. “Dead! I will be dead! My bones are just like glass in your hands, Shizu-chan!” 

A nanosecond after, the laugher withered in Izaya’s throat and words rolled off his tongue neutral, devoid of every emotion. “So just do what you gave your word to, and then go and seek vengeance in a suicide mission. Just do whatever you want."

Shizuo looked away, and breathed: “God, sometimes you can be really dense, don’t you?”

Izaya burst into laughter. “Eeeeh, what do you mean with this, Shizu-chan?”

For long minutes Izaya waited for an answer, while Shizuo just walked downhill through the forest.

"Pull out a smoke, Izaya," Shizuo said in the end. "Right pocket."

Izaya searched for his packet of _American Spirits_ and placed a cigarette between Shizuo's lips. For a while, he just helped Shizuo's smoking, tapping the ash accumulated on the tip into a package  Shizuo used as a pocket ashtray, and then putting the cigarette back between Shizuo's parted lips. 

"I tried to throw a refrigerator at Kasuka when I was a kid," Shizuo drawled. Izaya lifted one brow at this unexpected confession. "Y'know, he ate my pudding even though I wrote my name on it. Luckily both my arms broke so I didn't manage to hit him. God, he even called for help and stood by my side while I was at the hospital... He was _so_ much better than me."

Ashes fell on Izaya's stomach, so he took the cigarette from Shizuo's lips and tapped them into the ashtray. "Sometimes I think I'm better off dead, flea, ‘cause I think there’s no way to get this guilt away from me. And then, what if the people we meet here discover _what_ I am?" Shizuo's lips felt warm and soft when  Izaya put the cigarette back into his mouth. "I’m a monster, and I can't change."

_ Oh, but you've already changed, Shizu-chan. You've changed so much that you look like a stranger to me.  _

Shizuo looked down at him, tightening his hold a bit, just enough to make Izaya realize how close they were. The moonlight seeped through the trees, touching Shizuo's shoulders and making his golden strands shine.

"Tell me, Izaya," Shizuo asked. "Do you wanna die that badly?" 

It slipped through Izaya's lips, carrying with it all the weight of the truth:

"I do."

"Why?"

"Because I _want_ it."

"Why do you think it's over for you?" Shizuo snapped, the cigarette almost slipping through his lips. "Damn, Izaya, if it's because of your fucking pride--"

"Shizuo _._ " 

Shizuo was wide-eyed now, and his cheek felt cold under the palm of Izaya's hand. "You gave me your word, Shizuo," Izaya breathed while he watched him straight into his hazel eyes. "You _promised_." 

Shizuo pulled his lower lip between his teeth, and averted his gaze. A shadow hid Shizuo’s face now, making it impossible for Izaya to read his features. Silence fell on them, and Izaya took the smoked cigarette to discard it in the pocket ashtray. 

"Undress," Shizuo said.

For a moment, the world dropped from beneath Izaya's feet, annihilated by a single word seeping through his skin and resounding in his blood like echo in a cave. His chest heaved, a hysteric snicker escaped his mouth: "What--?”

Every shadow from the forest disappeared from Shizuo's face, revealing his altered expression. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, his lips stretched in the resemblance of a smile. "Undress, Izaya, we're gonna take a swim."

Izaya turned his head. 

The moon showed off the dark water, its reflection dancing across the waves breaking on the sand, still damp after the storm. Shizuo helped him sit, then he got undressed, leaving only his boxers on. 

Honestly, Izaya was scared. It terrified him, the idea of swimming into the sea, more so in the dead of night. Yet, adrenaline exploded into his system at the idea of doing something that could easily kill him. After all, wasn’t this the same sensation he felt every time Shizuo chased after him? _God_ , it was so good feeling his heart hammering with fight or flight instinct. It electrified him, like someone had just given him an intravenous drip of liquid euphoria. This was what made him feel alive. This was his drug. This is what he had missed. A smirk stretched his lips in a sharp bow. And, too, would he ever let his monster understand that he was scared? Never. 

After he got undressed, Shizuo pulled him to his feet. He passed Izaya's arm across his own shoulders, the palm of his hand sliding on Izaya's waist, gently. When they reached the waterline, a fringe of sea-foam spread over the sand, wetting their feet. Izaya hissed, not because the water was cold – which it _definitely_ was -- but because it took him by surprise. Shizuo's hold became firmer for an instant, squeezing  Izaya's waist, leaving him no escape.

When the water reached his waist, Shizuo howled: “Fuck-- so cold!” 

Izaya tilted his chin up. “Eh, Shizu-chan is such a weakling, I thought it would be way colder! It’s not that bad. All in all, it’s refreshing.” 

“ _Refreshing?_ ” Shizuo burst out laughing. “I can hear your teeth chattering, flea!”

Suddenly, Shizuo jolted. However, it had been Izaya who blurted out: "What?!" 

"Hmm, it was just a fish -- _probably_ ," Shizuo mumbled. 

Izaya fought the sheer terror when it rose inside of him, but in few instants he was already getting disconnected from everything else beside his own frantic heartbeat. 

“Oi, Izaya,” Shizuo said, tightening his hold and searching for Izaya’s gaze. “Wanna go back?”

Though his instinct screamed _yes_ , the part of him which enjoyed the idea of an obscure danger hidden in the water made him shook his head. Izaya forced himself to grin, but the tension in Shizuo's hand didn't loosen. The blond monster kept his gaze fixed to Izaya's face, and when he continued, “I can carry you if you’re scared", Izaya cursed Shizuo’s obnoxious ability to read through his own masks.

“No need to do it, Shizu-chan. See--” Izaya removed Shizuo's arm from his waist. Then he lifted both his hands, and flaunted one of his best mocking smiles. 

Shizuo raised one eyebrow. “Sure you’re okay, flea?”

“Dead sure, Shizu-chan.”

To stress the concept, he tried his best to distance himself from Shizuo. It was easier than he expected. Though it was impossible to run or walk fast, his body felt lighter and it was easy moving around just by jumping and rowing with his hands.

“Can you swim, Izaya?” Shizuo asked, one blond brow raised. 

Izaya rolled his eyes. “Of course I can.”

“Fine!” Shizuo snapped. “’Cause I’m not gonna save your sorry ass!”

Shizuo’s expression widened in surprise when Izaya hit him straight in the face with a water spray he produced with the sole intent of pissing Shizuo off. “It’s fine by me!” He mocked.

Izaya smirked when Shizuo turned his head sideways, one brow raised. It was so funny to mess his monster up! Shizuo tilted his chin up and, while watching Izaya in the eye, he grinned.

God, he had missed this so much.

Shizuo pivoted, crafting with the palm of his hand what looked more like a freak wave than a water spray. Izaya managed to avoid it, but barely. Then he giggled and distanced himself even more when Shizuo charged for the next blow, roaring: “Come here, Izayaaaa!” In few steps, the water had reached past his chest, but he was too focused on Shizuo to feel bothered by it. Shizuo tried to hit him again and Izaya went further, until water skimmed his chin.

“Izaya!” Shizuo shouted. 

This time, Izaya’s name didn’t roll from Shizuo’s tongue coarse with anger. Izaya understood too late why.

The sea had swelled. A wave reared up, rolling toward him. The water lifted him, pulling the bottom from under his feet. It pushed him toward the shore, and then swallowed him in its utter darkness.

Underwater, everything was quiet. 

He felt the efforts of his limbs against the resistance of the silent space around him. He tried to call for help with his mouth closed. The sound vibrated in his bones and then fell quiet. His heart thumped, banged, hammered at his ribcage, trying to get out from his throat as much as the water wanted to get in. His ears couldn’t distinguish a single sound. He knew that sound waves propagate much faster in water than in air, so every sound he had made was miles and miles away by now, running into the same nothingness he was struggling into. 

What he felt next was a sudden, scorching pain. It was as though a metal pincer had just wrapped around his wrist and squeezed. A scream escaped his mouth, and the water absorbed it. 

Then, he felt _him_. 

In the darkness, Shizuo had reached for him. His monster pulled him up and against his chest. When Shizuo brought him out of the water, Izaya coughed across his shoulder. Shizuo tightened his hold, and he mustn’t have been controlling his strength because Izaya flinched in pain, and then panted, and coughed once again as he tried to get a solid breath. Shizuo held him so tight that Izaya felt the frantic pounding of Shizuo's heart across his own chest. 

The cold air was a shock and Shizuo was shivering, breath escaping his mouth in short bursts as he walked toward the waterline. Izaya clung onto him, the palm of his hands shifting on Shizuo’s back, fingers curling, nails scraping the skin, holding on. Izaya buried his head in the crook of Shizuo’s neck and hugged him back with the same desperation.

Shizuo sprawled on the sand and Izaya peeled away from him, laying on his back, facing the starry sky above. 

Both their gazes cut sideways to catch a glimpse of the other. Shizuo’s hair stuck to his face, his eyes were wide open and he was a panting, shivering mess -- just like Izaya himself. 

It all started with a chuckle escaping Izaya’s lips as he coughed, then followed by another, and another again and somehow Shizuo was giggling too, and then they both weren’t trying to smother laughs into their hands anymore. Their sides ached. Half naked bodies curled up on the wet sand. 

Slowly, they cooled off. Izaya grabbed the blanket to wrap it around his shoulders while Shizuo stood up, shaking his head to dry his hair. The corner of Izaya’s mouth stretched and he was going to say that Shizuo reminded him of a dog, when all his thoughts twisted into white noise because Shizuo had just pulled his drenched boxers down to his ankles. Izaya had never seen Shizuo without underwear or a towel around his hips, and had been certain his monster didn’t feel at ease enough to undress himself completely. This boldness of his was _definitely_ a recent development;  Shizuo was supposed to show his embarrassment through his body language instead of acting so nonchalant… Right? 

Shocked, Izaya couldn’t look at anything but him -- his broad shoulders, the muscles of his long legs taut, trembling just slightly for the cold air, droplets of water trailing down his chest and stomach, down between his legs. Of course Shizuo wasn’t a natural blond. His hair was dark there, his limp cock big enough to make Izaya wonder how much longer and thicker it would become when Shizuo was turned on. 

Stark naked, Shizuo came closer, crouching down beside him to grab his trousers. “Wanna stay soaked to the bone like that?” Shizuo asked, hazel eyes flashing under his wet strands.

Izaya’s eyes sharpened, because in the dim light and after a bath, Shizuo’s blond hair looked so much darker and it unsettled him. The contrast with the brown roots wasn’t clear anymore, the glistening gold had faded from his hair like Shizuo hadn’t just removed himself from his clothes but from his aberrant nature as well. It scared Izaya how the word _monster_ suddenly felt so ephemeral, nothing but cheap dye on chocolate brown strands. 

To assure himself that he wasn’t hallucinating, Izaya drew his hand over a blond hair tip that had already started to curl.

Shizuo’s breathing went uneven. The sense of distance between them faded, wiped away by Izaya’s fingers shifting up and tangling in Shizuo’s strands. The moment transformed into something Izaya couldn’t control anymore -- adrenaline pooled in his stomach, electricity rushed between his legs and all rational thoughts displaced with one and only mental image that he refusedto accept. Izaya fantasized about Shizuo taking his wrists, Shizuo taking his mouth, Shizuo taking _him_. Not as if  Izaya was a woman, not if he was the woman Shizuo liked, but himself as a man, rough as if they were still bound by hate, fucking him without preparation so the blinding pain wouldn’t let him see the brown roots in Shizuo’s hair.

Hazel eyes were wide open now, dark, and looked only at him, with a gaze as sharp as the feeling of Izaya’s own heartbeat. 

“You need a haircut,” Izaya said, removing his hand. 

Shizuo kept his eyes on him for a moment more, then he lowered his gaze to the sand. “Don’t wanna spend money for that… It’s fine as long as I bleach them, I guess?”

Izaya shrugged. It looked like the usual air had settled between them and he felt relieved: everything was still under control. Well, _almost_ , because Shizuo grabbed his trousers and stood up to put them on. They were low on his hipbones, making him look terribly stunning. 

“Wanna cut it?” Shizuo asked, hinting a grin. 

“Eh? Now?”

“No, idiot.” Shizuo chuckled, and kneeled down at Izaya’s back to start blotting the black hair with his own shirt. Izaya couldn’t see what expression was on his face now, but Shizuo wasn’t laughing anymore when he added: “You made me worry.” 

Izaya opened his mouth to retort that it was Shizuo’s own fault because he was only trying to avoid his water sprays, but the words only slurred through his lips because Shizuo had just pinched his cheeks and started stretching them, as though he was playing with a kid. Shizuo tilted Izaya’s back, and they faced each other.

“You were supposed to _swim_ , instead of sinking like a fricking stone!” Shizuo blurted out while he played with Izaya’s cheeks, stretching and squishing them as if to emphasize every word he spoke.

Shizuo’s face looked funny, upside down as it was now, and Izaya giggled. “I was going to resurface even without your help, Shizu-chan,” he drawled. “Anyway, do you really trust me that much, to let me cut your hair?!” 

Thin horizontal lines appeared on Shizuo’s forehead, and immediately after he turned his head sideways to escape Izaya’s gaze. “Shut up,” he breathed. It was hard to tell it in the dim light, but it looked as though his cheeks were red. Izaya’s cheeks prickled too, but he swore it was just because Shizuo had messed with them.

“I’m very flattered, you know,” Izaya mocked.

“Knock it off already!” Shizuo blurted out, trying to seize a bit of the blanket that Izaya had wrapped around his back. “C’mon, make room for me too.”

“Eh? Forget it.” 

“I’m freezing, Izaya! Don’t be an ass, give me a bit of this fucking blanket!” 

“No waaaay!” Izaya chirped, sticking out the tip of his tongue.

He squealed when Shizuo lifted the blanket on Izaya’s back and tried to slip his head inside of it. Shizuo’s hair tickled Izaya’s back. He squirmed, elbowing Shizuo’s head and chest. Shizuo growled, but still didn’t give up. Izaya shouted when Shizuo bit him on his side. Though Shizuo supposedly did it out of vengeance, it didn’t hurt. It reminded Izaya of the way kittens play, but it tickled like hell and Izaya roared with laughter. Shizuo bit him again and Izaya cracked up. He still tried to fight back but his blows were too messy, barely hitting and inducing more giggles than growls. Shizuo tickled him, and their laughter came in loud bursts, then rolled like the waves breaking on the sand, again and again, until the night was quiet again. 

In the end, Shizuo managed to gain his share of the blanket. Tousled hair framed both their flushed faces and their breathing was labored. They lay down now, Shizuo hugging him from behind, keeping the blanket on both of them. 

Shizuo held Izaya’s chin still with his fingers, to let his lips linger on the nape of Izaya’s neck. Scarlet eyes widened when Shizuo’s teeth grazed the skin. Shizuo hummed, and bit him there. Izaya's mouth opened in a silent moan. It didn't hurt, and probably Shizuo was just playing like before, but it felt raw, an assertion of dominance provoking enough to make Izaya's cock twitch in his soaked boxers. 

“Izaya,” Shizuo breathed as he spooned him, his nose tickling Izaya's ear. “Does it hurt if I hold you like this?”

Izaya's brows were furrowed, both from the bite and because the hesitant press of Shizuo’s chest across his bare back was impossible to ignore. Though, he shook his head. 

Shizuo tightened the hold a bit more, the palm of his hand shifted down from Izaya’s chin to his chest, searching for his hand. 

“And like this?” Shizuo asked, and despite he sounded hesitant, his voice deep and sultry.

Izaya swallowed, his gaze fixed on an indefinite spot in the horizon. He shook his head once again.

Shizuo tightened the hold a bit more, shifting against him, intertwining their fingers. "'Night." Shizuo's lips stretched into a smile across the nape of Izaya’s neck before he kissed him there. Izaya closed his eyes against it.

The tide hummed, waves broke on the shore with the same rhythm of Shizuo's breath, wide with sleep, and Izaya forced himself to relax against the hug. 

Izaya knew that with the first streams of morning light he would regret allowing this proximity. Shame would come and self-hatred would torment him, but until he ceased being human he couldn't stop himself from wanting it, from wanting him: _Shizu_ _- chan_, the man with whom he shared a house, a past of hatred and a future of death, the man with a crush on an older woman, the former soldier and current bartender, a fighting machine yet so unexpectedly caring and sweet. 

Fake blond. 

_ Fake monster.  _

He breathed out and squeezed Shizuo's hand back, ever so slightly. “Goodnight,” he mouthed. 


	15. Change

Shizuo sat on the windowsill, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He exhaled, and watched the smoke dissipate in the crisp night air. The breeze that until a week ago was soft and warm with summer heat now felt sharp on his bare arms. He rubbed at the chilled skin before relaxing once again, yawning wide. He heard Izaya coming back into the bedroom, muttering a song that didn’t conceal the slight uneven gait of his injured leg. In the past days Izaya had discarded the crutches for good, and Shizuo swore that in few weeks, Izaya would make him bite the dust, his body healed that fast.

"Here’s your milk,” Izaya said, and sat on the windowsill in front of him. He held two mugs, mismatched unsold stocks from the minimart, one with a lurid red text screaming _HELLO GORGEOUS!_ , the other with the outline of black cats with tails that looked like question marks.

“Thanks,” Shizuo replied, folding his fingers across the cat mug. 

Like that time on the boat trip, they were both awake, surrounded by the stillness of night. Back then, Shizuo had witnessed Izaya having a nightmare for the first time ever. Like every day since, tonight Shizuo woke to Izaya tossing and turning, in the grips of a bad dream. Shizuo was a heavy sleeper, he knew that some distance between them in bed would be enough to keep himself from waking, but he refused to do it -- he didn’t leave an inch of mattress between them anymore. 

Shizuo lost his temper to every trivial thing, it was a part of him that would never change, but waking in the dead of night because of his former enemy didn’t manage to piss him off, somehow. It didn’t even make him complain. He found himself drowsy but calm, at peace somehow, while they waited for sleep together. Some kind of velvet energy settled upon Izaya and him in those moments. It was like smoke, blended into the air, though it lingered in the silence between them with bold familiarity, invisible yet real. It smelled like salt from the sea, soap from the sheets and Izaya’s scent -- especially like Izaya’s scent. It was that good, that intoxicating; it made Shizuo think of second chances.

Then he thought of Kasuka, ever-present in his dreams, a silent frame in the crackling fire. 

The same fire haunted Izaya too, making him clench at the scars on his legs and jerk in his sleep. Sometimes, in his nightmares, Izaya called for his mother. Shizuo understood about the fire, he dreamed about it too, but he wanted to ask Izaya why his mother was present. It wasn't out of curiosity; he wanted to help him somehow, even if he didn’t know how to do it. 

He took a sip of milk and asked:"Oi, Izaya, what does your mum look like?"

Izaya tipped his head to one side. Shizuo braced himself for a retort, but Izaya just stared at him in a neutral look. "That’s a strange question,” Izaya said, fiddling with the mug. ”Fair skin, black hair, slender. I took after her, I think." 

Shizuo studied Izaya’s features, trying to imagine how Izaya would look like if he was a woman. He found it too hard. 

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Izaya asked, lips stretched in a smirked. "Are you trying to imagine her?"

"Maybe."

Izaya giggled. "We should buy a wig, some designer clothes, some make-up – I would look like the spitting image of her!" Then he shrugged, and added: "Her eyes were dark brown, though."

Izaya took a sip of coffee, and when his gaze shifted back to Shizuo he went wide-eyed, the flashy mug as though frozen halfway to his mouth. “You’ve got ashes all over your trousers, Shizu-chan. And stop looking at me like that, it’s kind of creepy.”

“’Her eyes _were_ ,’" Shizuo quoted.“I didn't know your mum was dead."

Izaya rolled his eyes. "God, don't be overdramatic, it happened long time ago. Don’t worry, I don't cry for her. I think I've never cried for her, is it that bad? I never got used to her presence, and I thank her for that -- she never gave me the chance to miss her."

Shizuo didn't know what to say, and Izaya clicked his tongue. "Poor pitiful flea, is that what you are thinking, hmm? Do you think I became like this because of her neglecting me? Wrong. I became what I am because I wanted to. I choose my own path, every step of it, where it came from and where it would lead."

“I know,” Shizuo said, softly."But don’t you miss her, even sometimes?"

"It happened long time ago, I'm way over it."

"What about your father? Does he miss her?"

Izaya shrugged. "He's gone too."

Shizuo didn't reply immediately. "What did he look like?"

"I wonder if this is a kind of question time,” Izaya sighed, shaking his head. “Hmm, I remember he looked so tall to me… Though, I don't think he was _that_ tall, actually. He was definitely shorter than you. Look, I can’t even sit comfortably, your legs take up all the space!”  Izaya’s bare foot poked at Shizuo’s ankle. “You're way too tall, it’s unfair."

“I look so tall because you’re a bit of a shrimp, Izaya."

A smirk pulled at Izaya’s lips now. He playfully kicked Shizuo’s thigh and then stretched his leg out over it, shifting to find a comfortable position on the narrow windowsill. Shizuo folded his fingers across Izaya's ankle, and drew his thumb across the bone here. With a dark sweep of eyelashes, Izaya's eyes closed, the mug forgotten in his lap. When Shizuo’s fingers slid under the hem of Izaya's long pants and ran into the ridges of Izaya's scars, Izaya flinched.

"Does it still hurt?" Shizuo asked almost immediately, removing his hand.

"Sometimes,” Izaya whispered, his voice low, his gaze now somewhere out of the window. He paused, and for a moment Shizuo thought that Izaya was going to confide in him how it felt to have someone touching him there, if what hurt him sometimes was physical pain or the sight of his scars, what it meant to Izaya to be dealing with them. 

An unsettling awareness swelled in Shizuo’s chest now -- the more he got to know Izaya, the more he saw the humanity in him. It had always been natural for Shizuo, loathing Izaya for being a flea, an alien, a true villain, and it was so much easier wanting to kill someone like that, someone who wasn't human at all. But it seemed like this was a simplistic perspective on his nemesis, because under his protective permafrost, under his quirky people watching hobby and his hysterical laughs, deep into his core, Izaya was human. 

Izaya looked away from the window, straight into Shizuo’s eyes, making Shizuo feel acutely aware of their proximity. Their legs touched, gazes locked; he smelled Izaya’s scent tangled with the aroma of coffee. Shizuo heard the sounds their house made -- wood creaked, crickets shrilled in the grass outside, leaves rustled in the breeze, and closer, so much closer, he heard their breath, Izaya’s and his own, tangled. Izaya was staring at him now, his gaze occasionally drifting to the lower part of Shizuo’s face, as though he was lip-reading words that Shizuo wasn’t speaking. 

A sleep line left from the creases on Shizuo’s shirt ran down Izaya’s cheek, reaching his mouth. Izaya moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and Shizuo’s heart felt fluttery, hot in his chest.

Suddenly, his own thoughts scared him. He wanted to do so much more to Izaya than hold him while sleeping and spend their days together in something that resembled friendship way too much. He wanted to slid his hand along the nape of Izaya’s neck, lean closer and kiss him, on the cheek and down to his jaw, on the corner of his mouth, on his lips, everywhere. 

Seconds passed, yet Shizuo couldn't bring himself to move. Izaya, on the other hand, yawned."Time for my beauty sleep.” He stood up and ruffled Shizuo's bangs, the fondness in the gesture so teasing that Shizuo flinched. Shizuo's cheeks felt warm but the moment was gone like many others before, leaving Shizuo wondering where _the hell_ they came from and, mostly, what he supposed to do with them.

"Come here," Shizuo said, once he reached Izaya in bed, hugging him with a bone-crushing grip and just a little sway.

"Just for few minutes though," Izaya drawled, his voice sleepy across Shizuo’s neck."You're too warm, it feels like melting."

"We'll pull away the sheets, then," Shizuo whispered, laying the palm of his hand to the curve of Izaya’s neck. 

When he touched the soft skin there, he remembered how it had felt, strangling Izaya almost to death. Soon, he must do it again and, this time, he would go through it. Though when he ran his hands along Izaya’s spine, the only thought was the one he'd had so many times: _What about just living like this?_

Shizuo liked living here. The house was small but cozy, they had started to accumulate stuff in it as though making a nest. They bought the mugs, and books that piled up on the empty bookshelf in the living room, titles like _Social Psychology_ or _Cocktails for Dummies_ or _Cat Chat: A Guide to Understanding Feline Language_. There were monochromatic clothes in the wardrobe, bottles of milk in the fridge,  Shizuo’s king checkmated on the chessboard, Alfred's toys stuck under the furniture. 

Living here was peaceful. They still bickered, of course, but the anger had softened around the edges, as Shizuo had always desired. Promises of death emptied out until they felt like the seashells they picked up on the shoreline, light and hollow, fragile relics from the past.

There were times where Shizuo missed Kasuka so much that he only desired vengeance, and if he died while doing it, much better. 

And then, there were moments where he caught himself staring at Izaya's profile. The sea glistened behind him, wind ruffled his black hair. 

Izaya was complicated and contradictory, human at heart. Shizuo couldn't look anywhere else, and he didn't know what to do with himself anymore.

*

"Do you want a suggestion? Relax." The disembodied voice startled Shizuo, bringing him back to reality.

"Really, Rika-chan, _chill_. You’re going to scare him off if you don’t calm down a bit," the same, thin voice said. This time,  Shizuo linked it to its owner. 

Two girls sat with their arms folded on the counter that stretched in the dim lit pub. Shizuo had the impression he had seen them before but, well, he bartended at a pub, he had seen plenty of people. Besides, those girls didn’t have something particular in their look to imprint their image in Shizuo’s memory – they looked like normal girls in their late teens. The only particular that caught Shizuo’s attention was that they wore perfume, a breath of vanilla that stood out amongst the heavy beer smell.

One of them, the girl called Rika, pillowed her head on her bent arm, her voice almost lost under the recorded saxophone notes that danced across the wooden walls: "You know, I’ve never met someone like him. Someone this charming and smart, someone that understands us so much." 

“I know, he’s too perfect to be real,” her friend sighed. “I can’t believe we’re going to meet him.”

Shizuo lifted an eyebrow. He started mixing a cocktail, and the sound of ice rattling in the shaker covered the girls’ voices. Most likely, this was just a girl's night out but Shizuo couldn't help feeling a shiver running down his spine. It was more like a premonition, the ghost of a sensation that left his blood freezing.

"Something stinks," he mumbled.

The issue was that this situation reminded him so much the typical reaction that girls had toward Izaya. Back when they were in the army, Shizuo often spotted Izaya strolling with some young woman, usually more than one, often a whole handful. The flea liked to mess with them like they were his guinea pigs, or to use them for some shady purpose, just to discard them like yesterday’s trash once he grew bored. Shizuo didn’t know the details, but he had sworn, then, that nothing good would come from idolizing Orihara Izaya, and those girls worshipped Izaya like he was some kind of god.

Unlike Izaya, Shizuo had never been very popular with girls.

Before he joined the army, at the age of sixteen, Shizuo had attended school. At first, girls liked his look and his lone wolf allure -- they probably fantasized that he was the tormented guy they could save with their love -- but this adoration of theirs lasted up until the first time they saw him lose his temper and throw whatever was within arms’ reach. In that moment they came to understand that there was nothing romantic or cool about his solitude, and that his self-hatred was too deeply rooted to be wiped away with coffee shop dates or kisses under the rain. Besides, Shizuo never approached them. Well, at first he did reply to their heart-shaped gazes with a shy smile; he stopped doing it soon, because no matter how much he tried to change himself, it was as though everything he did lead to a single result. He had always ended up alone, the taste of blood in his mouth, his breath ragged and some bone broken. 

With time, he simplified the equation: no matter who, what, or when, he would end up hurting everyone, and nobody would come back to offer a forgiveness that he felt he didn't deserve.

Through the years, only one person kept searching for him, over and over again, even after the sheer violence of the monster inside of him had awoken.

But Izaya didn’t come back to love him. 

Izaya came back to torment him, to fill Shizuo’s mind with nothing but him.

Like water sneaking into the lungs of a drowning man, Izaya always claimed ownership over Shizuo’s thoughts. No matter that so many things had changed, Izaya’s presence in Shizuo’s mind was always the same, totalizing and unsettling. It stole his breath.

*

Shizuo arrived at home early in the morning. His shoulders felt tense, his ears rang; between that strange sensation he had felt with those two girls keeping him on edge and his hunger, he felt, overall, unsettled. He hoped to find Izaya already asleep, curled up in his usual cat-like fashion. He liked coming home after work just to find Izaya sleeping like a kid. He would hug him then, molding his body to Izaya’s, and they would sleep like spoons in the cutlery drawer. 

He found Izaya in the kitchen instead, preparing coffee. "Hi, Shizu-chan," he said.

Shizuo muttered a greeting and sprawled on one chair, outstretching his arms on the dining table. "I'm so damn tired," he drawled.

"Are you hungry too?" Izaya asked.

"A bit," Shizuo yawned.

"Show me your gratitude, Shizu-chan," Izaya chirped as he pulled out of the fridge a black package. "I bought sushi tonight, and I left some for you. Such a considerate housemate I am, aren’t I?"

Shizuo replied with a soft chuckle that turned into a “What the hell is this?!” as soon as he saw what the black box contained. There were just few remaining pieces, all so colorful that reminded Shizuo more of pastries than sushi. He lifted a eyebrow, evaluating if he was hungry enough to try it.

"Strange isn't it?" Izaya said. "But this is the best sushi the village has to offer. The sushi boxes at the minimarket are such a big no-no! Do you know that the cook is Russian? He’s very creative too! Come on, try it!" 

Shizuo washed his hands and popped a multicolored _maki_ into his mouth. He chewed on it and, after few moments, he dashed to drink water right from the faucet. "What the hell!"  Shizuo blurted out, wiping his mouth with his shirt's sleeve. He knitted his eyebrows at the spicy taste lingering on his tongue."Does that Russian guy know that _wasabi_ needs to be handled carefully?"

The flea was laughing now, holding his stomach and tipping his head back. Shizuo cocked his head and smirked. “Ah-ha, very funny, Izaya-kun! I bet it was all a plan of yours, hah?”

"Not at all, this was unexpected, though very satisfying!” Still giggling, Izaya leaned in to examine the remaining pieces in the black box. "Hmm, I suggest you try the one with ham. In my opinion, it's probably safe for your childish tastes!"

“Hah?! My tastes are not—“ 

Izaya’s gaze fell on him, and Shizuo felt his body growing tense, words tripping on his tongue. “Trust me,” Izaya said, and handed an awkward looking _nigiri_ to  Shizuo. "Here, take it."

Shizuo exhaled and rolled his eyes. He grabbed the piece and chewed on it. _Satisfied?! I don’t like it, of course_ , he tried to convey as he watched Izaya with a blank stare, even as he thought: _god, this is some good shit—no, wait, this is so damn delicious… Okay, this is the best sushi of my life._

"So you don’t like it, hmm?" Izaya whispered, eyes flashing and mouth crooking up in a smirk. “Too bad that there’s another one in the box,” he whispered, and drank a sip of coffee from his _HELLO GORGEOUS!_ mug.

"If you’re gonna toss it I can make the effort to finish it, of course," Shizuo mumbled.

“Hah! So you liked it!” Izaya blurted out, the coffee sloshing in the mug.

“What?! I don’t—“

"So we should buy it again! Let’s buy it again!" Izaya exclaimed. He was sitting on the table, kicking his feet, looking like an excited child. Then he winced – it was barely visible on his features, just a thin line forming between his eyebrows.

"Your knee must hurt pretty bad now, hmm?" Shizuo said. "You can ask me to go with you anytime, so you can lean on me a bit if you’re tired.” 

“Don’t worry about me, Shizu-chan,” Izaya breathed over the rim of his mug.

Shizuo leaned closer, sliding the palm of his hand down Izaya's wrist to the back of his hand, and said: “We should go out for dinner, sometimes." Izaya was looking at him with his head tipped to one side, his eyebrows darting up for a moment and making him look so sincerely surprised. Shizuo’s whole face felt hot, so he hugged Izaya, leaning his chin on top of Izaya’s head, trying to blow off steam. “No cheap sandwiches or milkshakes or the stuff you hate, I promise. You can choose whatever you want.”

He braced himself for an, “ _Eeeeh_ _, are you asking me out, Shizu-chan?!” _but Izaya just said: “Hmm, if I choose the place, I guess it’s fine.”

“Yeah, whatever you like,” Shizuo muttered. The hug was uncomfortable – Izaya was all tension, and the mug pressed into Shizuo’s stomach. Shizuo breathed in, inhaling the smell of coffee and Izaya’s scent. 

Suddenly he stepped back, shifting his weight as he forced himself to relax against the heat of anger in his chest.

Tonight he sensed a new smell on Izaya: vanilla perfume. 

"You weren't in the village just to buy sushi," Shizuo said, his voice coming out so low pitched that it surprised him.

There was a nervous energy in the kitchen now, one that was entirely too familiar. It was the usual tension that there had been between Izaya and him since they met \-- the impendent violence, asleep now, but ready to arise as soon as they stepped closer to each other.

Izaya shrugged. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"There were two girls in the pub tonight, wearing that same perfume that I smell on you. ‘sides, they were talking about meeting with someone they liked so much, that could understand them and all that shit. That someone was _you_ , wasn’t it?!"

Izaya clicked his tongue, and there wasn’t heat in his voice when he mocked: "You know, Shizu-chan, sometimes you should go out and have _fun,_ so you’ll stop wasting your time thinking about what I may or not do. I don't know, date someone for example. Do you want a suggestion?"

"Shut up. I know what your fun is supposed to be, louse. I wouldn't be so pissed if your main interest was women, Izaya... But your fun isn’t being in their company, hmm?! The only thing that matters to you is that fucking _human observation_! Are you  gonna mess their life up?! No, are you gonna mess this village up before you--"

Izaya was expressionless like a mannequin when he said: "Die? Before you'll kill me?"

Shizuo's fists clenched. "I knew something stunk! It was you! I swear, louse, I will do anything to get in your way-- Aaaah, who gives a shit! Do you know what I’m gonna do to stop you?! I’ll kill you! And I’ll kill you NOW!"

Izaya dodged the punch slipping sideways from the table. He reached the kitchen counter, and opened the cutlery drawer. Shizuo realized what was happening a moment too late, when a blast of air swished on his cheek. Then, he felt pain. For a moment he just stood as though frozen, then rage came like a fire, burning hot and fast. He spat out:

"YOU FUCKING FLEA!"

When Shizuo lifted his gaze to search for Izaya, he didn't see him. Izaya had managed to turn off the lights, and darkness enveloped the room. Shizuo heard another swish; he dodged it this time, and the knife hit the wall at his back.

“You want to die that bad, hah?! So come here, flea! Come here and let me kill you!” 

Floorboards creaked when Izaya escaped from the kitchen into the dark living room. Shizuo followed him, stomping. A toy mouse abandoned on the floor almost made him slip, and he swore under his breath. Shizuo expected Izaya to laugh, but Izaya was silent.

“You’ve got something big in mind, isn’t it? Something spectacular before the end! What the fuck, louse! Do you think you’re a god?! Do you know that you’re no different from the people you like to observe?” 

A thread of light cut through the floor, and shadows stretched over Shizuo's sight. He stepped forward, and his fist closed across Izaya's shirt. Even in the dark, Shizuo could find him anywhere. 

When his other hand lifted, fist closed tightly to punch Izaya, Shizuo felt something stinging his neck -- Izaya had just pointed a blade at his carotid.

"It looks like draw," Izaya whispered, his voice deep, coffee hot on his breath.

Despite the calm demeanor, Izaya was breathing hard, and Shizuo knew that he must kill him now. Tomorrow or the next month, Izaya's last breath would be forced out by his hands -- so why wait? He couldn't dodge this. He promised. Izaya had already chosen, he wanted to die, and Shizuo was the only one wishing they would keep living like this.

"This isn't a draw at all," Shizuo thundered. 

Anger flowed white-hot in his veins, and Shizuo thanked it, because it allowed him to grab Izaya's hands fast and hard enough to not let the blade sink into his neck any further. Then he pushed him against the bookshelf and Izaya exhaled out loud; the books they had bought fell off with loud thumps. 

Shizuo leaned closer. "Remember it. You’re no different from them," he whispered across the tendons of Izaya's neck, softly, a direct contrast to the firm grip across Izaya's wrists. Izaya kicked him and tried to wiggle out. Shizuo tightened the hold. "You’re _human_."

Izaya laughed in shuddering puffs across Shizuo’s cheek and jerked as he tried to break free, to hurt Shizuo back. The palm of Shizuo’s hands shifted down Izaya's wrists, exposing the skin under the long sleeve t-shirt, and Izaya was shaking, his pulse frantic across the skin.

Shizuo half-expected a bite when the tip of Izaya's nose brushed his jaw, but Izaya tongued the cut that he had just opened on Shizuo’s cheek, licking away the blood, as if to remind Shizuo of what he had just done. A sharp electrical surge passed through Shizuo’s spine, and his body reacted, his mind reacted. Shizuo was supposed to hurt him back, but what he felt now wasn’t blinding rage -- it was a feeling as unknown to him as the sea bottom; it left him so stunned that his hold on Izaya’s wrists loosened.

“Pathetic,” Izaya snickered. “I thought you were going to kill me, Shizu-chan.”

And there Shizuo stood, flash-frozen in shock.

“Here,” Izaya said, his voice low-pitched. There was an undertone of fondness in it that made everything more painful. Izaya took Shizuo’s hand and lifted it to his own neck, shaping the palm to his throat. “You have to push here, hard enough to compress the airway or block the blood from flowing into my head. A few minutes and I’ll be dead… Or, well, you can be merciful and just snap my neck.”

Shizuo flinched, thumb sliding over the hollow of Izaya’s throat. Izaya hummed in approval, tipping his head back just a little. “Yeah, like this,” Izaya breathed. “Now, Shizu-chan, tell me you want to kill me.”

Shizuo did want to say it, but, more than anything, he wanted to believe he would be able to do it. He couldn’t, and he couldn’t even establish _where_ his obsession with killing Izaya had disappeared off to. It was gone, he couldn’t find it anywhere, not in his anger, not in his hands of destruction, not even in his voice. 

But it couldn't have disappeared, because things don't disappear, things _change_. 

What if his obsession with killing Izaya had changed into something else, still pulling him toward him, still making him crave to see Izaya coming undone, but something different? He couldn’t grasp it yet, he couldn’t give it a name; it frustrated him. But what annoyed him off the most was that he was so violently turned on. _For fuck’s sake_ , he thought, what was happening to him?!

“You piss me off,” Shizuo thundered, surging forward.

When he pressed their chests together, Shizuo didn’t understand why this proximity felt so different. He had slept hugging Izaya for weeks, and he and Izaya touched a lot -- not just casual bumps of shoulders and knees brushing. He was used to the tip of Izaya’s nose across his neck, the touch of Izaya’s hand, the weight of Izaya’s body settling into his own. Sometimes, in the morning, Shizuo woke up to feel Izaya hard across his thigh, and though Shizuo felt his own body growing hot, he knew that morning wood was normal for a guy of their age. It didn’t mean that Izaya was turned on by him or vice versa, the idea was laughable.

No, something about this situation felt even more intimate, somehow dangerous. Shizuo didn’t understand why. He just felt it uncoiling in his belly, this unknown warmth, leaving him on edge, electric.

He towered over Izaya, the palm of his hand sliding from Izaya’s neck to the back of his head, fingers combing through Izaya’s hair, curling across the strands and then pulling, so that Izaya’s head was tilted back and neck bared. Shizuo breathed across the curve of Izaya’s neck, “You are such a liar.”

Izaya laughed. “You’re delusional if this still surprise you, hmm?” Then he whispered across Shizuo’s earlobe: “Joking, you’re just an idiot.”

“Maybe I am,” Shizuo growled. “Maybe you’re an idiot too, flea.” He ran his lips up the side of Izaya’s neck, and anger made him want to suck bruises into the skin or bite him, or probably both. He wondered how Izaya would react if he did it. He pressed his teeth across Izaya’s skin and Izaya drew a sharp intake of breath, just to exhale in a short burst when Shizuo kissed him there. 

“Did you like it?” Shizuo whispered.

“This is so lame of you, Shizu-chan,” Izaya said, chuckling a bit under his breath despite the fact that his voice was brittle and heartbeat frantic. Shizuo’s jaw clenched when Izaya chirped, “You'll never be successful with women if you just keep asking for confirmation--“ 

Shizuo yanked on Izaya’s hair. Izaya cried out in pain, blunt fingernails digging into the muscles of Shizuo’s shoulders.

“Stop being a dick,” Shizuo snarled. A hoarse whimper leapt from Izaya when Shizuo bit down on the skin. “I want it to feel good, but I don’t know how to do it. So you gotta say it, or I’m gonna stop here and I won’t do it ever again.” He swallowed, and tried his best to keep his voice steady. “ _Say it_ \-- did you like it, Izaya?”

Not a single word escaped Izaya’s lips. He was silent, breathing hard through his nose as though he was pissed. “You really want to know it, hmm?” Izaya said eventually, and he was so close that his breath fanned on Shizuo’s lips. “I hated it.”

Shizuo’s arms relaxed at his sides. "Fine," he breathed. "Go sleeping Izaya… I need to take a walk.” 

When Shizuo distanced himself, Izaya seized his wrist. 

Izaya was breathing in and out like he had been running away far and fast. “Wait,” he said, speaking that single word as though it was agony. He was shuddering, like he felt conflicted and wanting and angry at the same time. “Wait,” Izaya repeated, and he pulled Shizuo closer, back to him. He pressed his body against Shizuo’s, burying his head into his neck as though he wanted to hide there. "Do it again," Izaya said, grabbing hold of Shizuo's hair, fingernails scraping the scalp. “Beast.”

Shizuo didn’t quite understand where this would lead Izaya and him. He had no idea how this would change the equation balancing their life and his own, as he couldn’t comprehend what he was going to do now, but he felt from the depth of his heart that he didn’t have to understand it now. "I liked it," Izaya breathed, and his legs were shaking. 

It was all Shizuo needed to hear; everything else could go to hell. 

The quiver in Izaya’s breath that followed as Shizuo spread open-mouthed kisses from his collarbone up to his earlobe felt raw, far from anything that had ever escaped Izaya’s lips before. In the dark, Shizuo barely saw him. He learned him with his mouth. He buried his face in the gap between Izaya’s jaw and the collar of his shirt, and here he smelled and kissed and licked every inch of skin. “It felt good when you kissed me here,” he heard himself saying, and he kissed Izaya on the jaw. “…And here.“ He sucked a spot under Izaya’s ear. “….And here, and here,” Shizuo said between the kisses, and Izaya’s arms were all around him.

Shizuo slid his hand up under Izaya’s shirt and Izaya jumped at the contact. Then, Izaya nodded. “Go on,” he said. Shizuo pushed Izaya’s shirt up to his chest and stood there, lingering for a moment, lips on Izaya’s neck. His whole body felt hot, because Izaya had just started unbuttoning his shirt, running his hand over Shizuo’s collarbone to push it to the side, undressing him. Izaya’s touch was warm and firm and rough, but where it passed, it struck fire.

Shizuo wanted to do the same to him. Hesitant, he drew his fingers up Izaya’s chest, making the skin shiver into goose bumps. He caressed the nipples with the palm of his hands, and Izaya’s breaths became short, his pulse fluttering. When he lowered himself to kiss Izaya’s chest, Shizuo felt Izaya’s hands sliding into his hair, and the more he kissed and touched him the more Izaya unwound. This pleased him. Shizuo wanted to bend Izaya under his touch, to keep him close, and he wanted to do it gently, even if he had nothing but instinct to guide him and a raw strength he couldn’t keep on a leash. Izaya had said: _My bones are just like glass in your hands, Shizu-chan. _That scared him. It made him feel unstable, his legs felt useless as a wet towel.

Izaya curled up, and they anchored against each other when Shizuo’s mouth closed on a nipple, teeth grazing the skin. He was sure Izaya would yell at him to stop if he were to hurt him, but Izaya only writhed against him, swearing under his breath. “Fuck,” Izaya said, and blood thrummed in Shizuo’s body at the filthy way the word rolled off Izaya’s tongue. He liked this Izaya, desperate and warm, so far from the ice-cold insect he had always despised. _God_ , he wanted to do so many things to him now.

Shizuo’s hand slid downward, running over Izaya’s stomach. When his fingers moved on the skin under his navel and lingered there, drawing light arcs, Izaya gasped, his chest rising and falling, uneven and fast like he was having a hard time controlling his breathing.

Shizuo spoke slowly, “Tell me what you want.”

Izaya’s knees buckled. Shizuo held him on his feet. “Do whatever you want,” Izaya hissed.

“That won’t do,” Shizuo said with a hoarse voice, and Izaya jerked at every word as though they were stabbing him. “Talk, Izaya, tell me what you want.”

Izaya’s hand closed on the nape of Shizuo’s neck, pulling him up and against him. Izaya was so close that Shizuo smelled the coffee from his mouth. The following moment had left both of them hanging, both their breathing suspended in the space between them. 

Izaya’s voice was wrecked and brittle, shattered to fragments of breath and syllables, his body shaking. He whispered across Shizuo’s lips: “Touch me.”

Shizuo felt dizzy, heartbeat hammered in his chest, his mouth went dry. He pressed his hand over the whole length of Izaya’s cock through his trousers, and Izaya cried out like the noise had been ripped from him, like it was torture. Izaya was so hard, _so damn hard_ , his cock twitched when Shizuo moved the palm of his hand across it, slowly. Shizuo wanted to touch him gently at first, not because he wanted to tease him or to act like a sadist, and definitely not because he feared how Izaya’s cock would feel in his hand... He just didn’t know what Izaya would like, he had no idea of how to touch him just right to make him lose his mind. 

He wondered about it, though, as he ran the palm of his hand across Izaya’s cock -- how did Izaya touch himself? And what did he think about? What turned Izaya on so much that it made him drop his collected façade, made him surrender to something so primal and animalistic? 

...Had Izaya ever thought of him while he jerked off?

Heat exploded in the base of Shizuo’s spine, and it was seeping deeper than he had ever felt when rage overtook him — he felt feral, self-control shot to pieces. Every inch of his body strained toward Izaya, his cock was throbbing so hard that he just pressed it against Izaya’s, pinning him against the bookshelf. Shizuo rolled his hips, grinding against Izaya, hard and rough and desperate. A sharp electrical shock flashed through his body, and Shizuo flinched at it, not because he didn’t want this, but because he had never imagined it would feel _this_ good _._ Pleasure burned, razor-like sharp, and he groaned deep in his throat.

“Hold on to me,” Shizuo said, because Izaya was a shivering mess now, his legs trembled as he pushed up on his tiptoes to meet Shizuo. When he lifted the smaller man, pulling him on his lap, Shizuo sensed the outline of a utility knife in Izaya’s hip pocket – _that little shit_ , Shizuo thought. Then Izaya bucked his hips, and Shizuo thought nothing.

“Don’t stop,” Izaya breathed.

Shizuo didn’t. There was a rhythm Izaya enjoyed, Shizuo felt it in the way breath caught in his throat, in the sighs escaping his lips, in the way his body grew warmer. Izaya’s hands were everywhere on his back, clutching at him like that time Shizuo had saved him from drowning, tighter and tighter, his face pressed into Shizuo’s neck, kissing and biting him there. Izaya gripped at him with his blunt fingernails, and he sighed and swore, as though a part of him was trying to keep control with the same desperation of the other which was struggling to let everything go and just _feel_.

“Hey, look at me,” Shizuo said, sliding his hand on the back of Izaya’s head, gently pulling him up so he could see his face.

In the moonlight, Shizuo could make out Izaya’s features. His hair was tousled and some strands fell on his eyes, shut so tight that thin vertical lines formed between his eyebrows. Izaya’s head was turned sideways, hands clenched Shizuo’s shoulders, thighs trembled. All in all, pleasure on Izaya’s face looked like a synonym for tension.

“Look at me,” Shizuo repeated, softly, and rubbed his face against Izaya’s. He kissed the tip of his nose, a delicate cheekbone, he nuzzled an ear, tracing with his mouth the narrow line of an eyebrow, just to kiss him again on an eyelid. Izaya opened his eyes, holding his gaze to Shizuo’s. They bumped their foreheads together, and neither of them gave an inch when Izaya slid against him, his skin smelling hot and sweet, nipples taut against Shizuo’s chest.

The tip of their noses brushed and a shiver jolted up Shizuo’s spine.

He wanted to do so many things to Izaya now--

No, just one.

He wanted to kiss him. 

With his right hand he cupped Izaya’s cheek, and slid his thumb over Izaya’s lower lip. “Izaya,” Shizuo said, as he had never said it before.

He didn’t even have to think about leaning his lips on Izaya’s. He just did it. He felt shock passing through Izaya in waves, his body growing tensed like a bow. Shizuo merged their lips again in another fragile, chaste kiss. This time he learned the shape of Izaya’s lips, their softness, how breath flickered from them when they parted. “Izaya,” Shizuo whispered. Izaya’s name billowed inside of him, filling his body and mind, and he said it again, “Izaya.”

Shizuo felt a familiar sensation now. 

It wasn’t quite pain, it was more like a sting right under his shoulder blade. Holding his breath, he slid his hand on Izaya’s hip pocket. He found it empty.

Both Izaya’s hands were tensed over Shizuo’s shoulders, pointing the utility knife at Shizuo’s back. Izaya was breathing hard across Shizuo's lips, and for a moment Shizuo thought he was going to see Izaya cry for the first time ever. But Izaya’s cheeks were dry, as always. Though the lines between his eyebrows had deepened, and blood had started to appear on his lower lip in a dark bloom where Izaya was biting at it. 

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Izaya breathed, his voice brittle, and each word felt like an ice chip, so painfully sharp. Izaya’s arms slipped from Shizuo’s shoulders, the knife fell on the floor. His eyes opened. There was a shell-shocked gleam in them. Izaya's his bare chest heaved, his fist landed on Shizuo’s chest, hard. He blurted, “Nothing was supposed to change!”

Shizuo thought of the night he had thrown Izaya against the wall, and if it hadn't been for Shinra he would have crushed him under a hardwood wardrobe. That night, he had promised Izaya that he would kill him. It was true, nothing was supposed to change between them. What he felt toward Izaya did change, though. He stepped back.

"But it did, isn’t?" Shizuo said, his voice deep and honest. “Everything had changed, Izaya.”

Izaya’s expression hardened. He turned his head sideways, and flipped on the switch. When artificial light flooded into the room, Shizuo shook his head, unable to believe at his own eyes. Bruises marred Izaya’s pale skin everywhere, blood smudged on his lips. Shizuo wanted to be careful, to make Izaya feel good, he didn’t want this, he didn’t mean to hurt him. Self-hatred burned, it made Shizuo’s eyes prickle.

Izaya picked up his shirt and the knife, and headed toward the entry door, turning his back to Shizuo.

It fell off Shizuo’s lips. “I’m sorry.”

Izaya’s shoulders heaved, but he didn’t look back. He shut the door at his back and disappeared into the night.

*

Izaya didn’t come back that night, nor the following day, or the next, until a whole week had passed by -- the longest period that Shizuo had been without him since they met. Shizuo searched for him by day, waited for him every night, sometimes with Alfred on his lap, other times alone, chain smoking sitting on the windowsill until dawn broke.

This morning he was alone, a cigarette hanging from his lips, rubbing his arms because the air had become even chillier. _Dammit_ _, dammit, damn that fucking Izaya! _he thought, pushing his hair to a mess. _If he got in some trouble I'll kill him for real. Such a pain in the ass he is... Aaaah, damn. It pisses me off not knowing that he's fine._

_ It makes me mad missing him so much.  _

Izaya’s scent still lingered in the air, it was everywhere in the house, hanging there like the yearning in Shizuo’s chest. There was nothing Shizuo could do about it, he had always been powerless against the sheer force of his emotions. If he was the rowing boat, they were the rough sea, and now the waves were shaking him.

It didn’t surprise him, though. Izaya had always been his storm.

That flea had always been the most catastrophic sequence of freak waves, yes, but it had never been like this before. Hate and rage were dull compared to the unmitigated desire Shizuo felt toward him now, not Izaya the insect or the villain or his nemesis, but Izaya with all his quirky idiosyncrasies that Shizuo had sealed into his memory, Izaya as a man, Izaya as a person, _Izaya_.

_ Nothing was supposed to change  _ was the last thing Izaya said to him.

One hundred and one things had changed since they arrived here. No, probably just one. It was a change of skin that had required time, it was invisible to Shizuo's eyes like smoke blended in the air, yet it had always been there. Hate had transformed, and the metamorphosis was now complete, showing itself in its sheer magnitude. __

_ I don't hate him anymore...  _

_ I love him. _

“Fuck,” he whispered, and the cigarette slipped from his mouth.


	16. Cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I haven’t dropped this fic (and I won’t ever do it), it's just that real life had been quite stressful. This chapter is shorter than the past ones, so I’m gonna update the next one in two weeks! Anyway, I’m so glad you enjoyed the past chapter! THANK YOU so much for the feedback, I love all of you so much!

Orihara Izaya loved human beings. Nothing soothed him more than the chatter of unknown voices as he let his gaze shift over people busy with their everyday life. He wasn’t choosy in his observation; each of them could become his next favorite test subject, and he was ready to study thousands of boring people to find the rare gem, someone that overcame his expectations. 

Sitting by the bedroom window, Izaya learned routines and habits, where and when people went and who they met. For example, Kishitani Shinra, doctor, sneaked out at night to go in the wild lands searching for a headless woman he claimed to love. Itou Satoshi, owner of the minimart, got drunk every evening – curiously, he never closed the outer door of his house – did he trust his fellow villagers that much?? Togusa Saburo left the village at dawn. A nineteen years old girl named Rika hung out with her friend Misaki in a restaurant called _Russia Sushi_ every Thursday evening, and so on and on.  Izaya could ramble on for ages. Though now that he was to a certain extent able to walk on his own, Izaya felt that the time for a closer observation had finally come. 

The previous evening, he hadn’t sat by the window in the bedroom he shared with Shizu-chan, but on a black faux leather sofa, chewing a rather unorthodox piece of sushi. Unexpectedly, the food here had been so delicious that Izaya had ordered an extra share to eat at home for when Shizuo would come back from work (if Izaya didn’t finish it all by himself beforehand). Despite it being a weekday, Russia Sushi had been crowded. The smell of raw fish and beer mingled in the air together with the persistent scent of vanilla perfume emanating from the girls he shared the table with, Rika and Misaki. 

Izaya had done his best to study them. If a sommelier must have a receptive palate to catch the peculiarity of a wine, in human observation the key sense was _hearing_ , so he listened at the two girls at the top of his game. Izaya judged himself an excellent listener, and the reason lay in a single quality of his: he held no interest in himself. After all, don’t people ask someone else about their weekend just to talk of their own? Don’t they just forget what someone they’ve just met is called, because they’re too focused on telling their own name while making a good impression? Don’t they ask someone if they’re doing fine, just so someone will ask in return, “What about you”? Izaya didn’t make this mistake. His emotions meant nothing to him; they were like bothersome dust to wipe away without a second thought. A constant sterilization of his feelings, akin to cleaning fingerprints and dirt and scratches from the lens of a camera before taking a picture, allowed him to catch clearest image possible. While listening to an insightful chat, Izaya gathered the information he needed to establish if a human was interesting enough for a more acute observation, a more _contrived_ type, like wine being swirled in a glass to fully catch its perfume, so to speak. 

Misaki’s eyes had met Izaya’s, and she started to play with the dark hair she wore up in a ponytail. She curled the strands across her fingers and said in a thin voice: 

“I heard that the blond haired guy working at Tanaka’s pub is going out with Satou Kyouko from the bakery shop.”

Izaya had almost choked on his beer. This wasn’t an enlightening conversation, yet he had forced himself to keep his metaphorical inner lens nice and clean. He leaned his head on his bent arm, trying to breathe away the uncomfortable sensation that he didn’t want to listen at these girls any longer. 

“Hah?! Is he into older women?” Rika said. “So many girls I know started going to that jazz pub to flirt with him, but he didn’t even give them a second look! For a while, I thought he wasn’t even into women at all.”

Misaki nodded.“I thought he must be Tanaka’s lover!”

“That makes sense, Micchan. They look so cute together! Since the blond guy saved his life, he and Tanaka have gotten pretty close!”

Izaya tilted his chin up at the sudden gem that Rika dropped casually. “Hmm, is that for real?”

Both the girls nodded. 

“Yes, and from then on, Tanaka totally wanted to return the favor, and it’s just so out of character for someone like him. You know, Izaya-san, Tanaka hasn’t ever made any new friends since–“ Misaki lowered her tone of voice until it was barely audible. “What happened in the _wild lands_.”

“I hadn’t heard about that! What happened?”

“Well, when he was a teenager he and his friends left home – they were a kind of street gang here, a pretty harmless one. It was a show of bravado and nobody knows what happened there for sure but Tanaka was the only one who returned. From then on, he only hung around with some of the guys he plays music with in his pub, but he’s usually very reserved – like he’s scared of something! But he’s getting so damn close to that guy! I’ve seen them together and, believe me, Tanaka is so overprotective!”

“What do you think about him, Izaya-san?” Rika asked him.

“About whom? Tanaka or that blond haired guy with a soft spot for older women?”

Misaki giggled. “I think he’s called Heiwajima Shizuo. You know him, right? When we met you for the first time he was pushing you in a wheelchair.”

Izaya had stared deep into her eyes, watching as her breath hitched. Her face had flushed scarlet.

“Yeah, I know him, and if I were you, I wouldn’t _ever_ get any closer to him. He’s dangerous. He acts on instinct like a beast. My opinion, hmm?” His voice had been deep and calm and neutral, when he added: “I don’t like him at all.”

*

The next time the words _I don’t like him at all_ came to his mind, Izaya was alone.

It was early in the morning, Rika and Misaki had probably been fast asleep from several hours already, while Izaya wasn’t getting any sleep at all. He wasn’t even in bed, nor sitting by the window sipping coffee. He was inside a house, but not in his own. From the door left slightly open spilled darkness, only broken by the streetlight. Its halo stretched on Itou Satoshi’s dark marble floor. Izaya sat in the entrance hall, head folded in his bent arms, his breath ragged from the run, his knee aching, his heartbeat fast. He didn’t want to analyze what he felt now, wanted to just brush it away, but this wasn’t superficial dust… It was something he was made with, part of him like the blood in his veins, imprinted into his very bones. It was fear.

The obscure desire he felt now was dreadful. It made threads of rage tangle into knots in his chest. That beast hadn’t even _tried_ to kill him. Shizuo said everything had changed between them, Shizuo had touched him, Shizuo had kissed him. Chaste kisses, nothing more than that, but something about Shizuo doing that to him made Izaya shudder all over in pleasure, and when Shizuo kept saying his name Izaya froze, right on the verge of coming undone… And then? What would happen to him after that? Izaya acknowledged his desires, and followed them wherever they took him. When bothersome emotions ensued, he washed them away before they could harm his controlled, rational self. He had built line in the sand between desire and emotion, and if his carefully constructed barriers fell, well… It was a cheesy sentence that made him cringe, but his heart would be easily broken.

He fed his self-control with those familiar words, he clung to them: _I don’t like him at all_. Though there was a different ring to them; they weren’t sugarcoated by the usual calmness he found in his thoughts. He was scared and angry and he wanted  Shizuo now. He imagined how it would have happened, Shizuo deepening the kiss, and Izaya would have kissed him back, until he was nothing but a pathetic mess in that beast’s arms. 

_ Everything is okay _ , he repeated to himself. He knew it wasn’t. He convinced himself he would be all right again if he stayed away from Shizuo for a while, observing humans in a good hiding place that was surely not here in the village, but somewhere else. Anywhere else. 

When the dawn came, Izaya left the village. Togusa Saburo barely spoke during the whole travel; he only asked where Izaya needed to go and Izaya replied: “Wherever you’re headed”. Izaya already had a believable lie on the tip of his tongue to justify his urge to leave the village – _possessive boyfriend, gotta disappear for a while_, with a casual hint at the kiss and biting marks he still felt burning on his skin – but Togusa didn’t ask for an explanation.

Izaya didn’t bother to ask him not to tell anyone he had seen him, even if Izaya was 99% sure Shizuo knew Togusa, at least by sight. There was a Nina Simone sticker on the dustless dashboard, placed there side by side with a Heineken one, carefully enough to border on perfectionism, aligned as they were with the air vent on the passenger’s side. Jazz music and beer were a combo that meant one thing in the village: a regular in Tanaka Tom’s pub. Shizuo could ask Togusa if he had seen someone with Izaya’s look and Togusa would reply _I did_ , and tell him where they were headed. And, honestly, Izaya didn’t care. He would escape even further away, and Shizuo would keep chasing him forever and ever without catching him, like the good old times. _Ah-ha. It serves you right, Shizu-chan._

Izaya pulled down the sun visor with a jerk that made Togusa jump on his seat. Glancing in the mirror on the back, he found his hair was tousled, and the hickeys a dark red color, stains against his pale skin. Izaya found them beautiful. He moistened his lips, poking the cut on his lower lip. Shizuo had kissed him. His chest tightened into a knot that exploded into an unexpected lightness spreading everywhere, from his groin to his cheeks, now flushed pink. He let out few deep breaths, an attempt to douse his hot spirits, but he smelled that beast’s scent on himself, and he liked it. 

“Once you’re done with the mirror, please closethe sun visor back _gently_ ,” Togusa said, interrupting Izaya’s train of thought. In slow-motion, he mimicked the correct movement Izaya should make. “Like this, sloooowly.”

Good god, had he just met a car freak?! He glanced at Togusa, at the straight light-brown hair, at the starched white shirt from under which peeked out a flashy golden chain that reminded Izaya of someone he knew in the past. He wondered if he was supposed to call them sooner or later to let them know he was safe and sound but nope, there was no way he would do that. There was a Dullahan waiting for him and he had never liked goodbyes—

_ Wait,  _ he thought. _Why am I thinking of_ me _instead of focusing on this human?_

Izaya shifted his attention back to Togusa. He cast sidelong glances at him, trying to grasp something of the man’s personality through body language, but he felt like a radio with a bad signal. The music faded in and out, and in the moments of white noise his rationality blackened out, and the Shizuo from the past evening came to his mind – the weight and warmth of his body, his smell, the way he had called Izaya’s name before kissing him. A quiet rage built up inside of him, and he decided to focus on the scenery as an attempt to reset. With the sea on one side and the wooded hills on the other, they followed the road that kept stretching, empty and narrow. 

The closest village resided a hour and a half drive away. It was composed entirely of colored houses, built around a gulf in which waves cradled fancy motorboats. It looked like a tourist location; clusters of people holding cameras gathered in the narrow alleys, sat on the benches eating packed lunch, or flowed into the golden beach where kids holding buckets and spades and groups of friends enjoyed the last hot days before summer broke. Izaya had a passing thought, that the village where he lived now wasn’t any less picturesque than this, only more backwater. Here, at least there was a train station; he had already spotted the street signs leading to it. Once Togusa had parked his van, Izaya thanked him and they parted ways. Izaya headed toward the station that, in the end, proved out to be two tracks, a ticket shop and three old metal benches close to each other. Izaya pulled out from his pockets some crumpled bills – the change for the sushi – that was enough to choose a one-way ticket to several destinations, all far away from here. Between them, one in particular was the perfect hiding place. He spent the few remaining money on a Crosswords Magazine and a pencil. _Habit_.

When the train arrived and the doors opened, the crowd of tourists walked past him, their suitcase wheels rattling on the paving, the chatting loud and disconnected. A single male voice emerged from the clamor.

“Wait!” 

Izaya turned his head toward it and he felt his mouth going dry and legs turning into jelly, because he was sure it was _him_. When the man came closer, though, all the similarities with  Shizuo went down the drain -- Izaya’s stomach made a flip and then dropped, leaving him nauseous and displacing all his thoughts. 

The car in which he sat was old and stunk of over-heated brakes, floor cleaner and sweat. The air conditioning was broken and there was barely anyone to observe since all the people got out at the tourist village . He slept during most of the trip, the magazine pages flapping in his lap. He didn’t dream. 

*

The sun was in the west when Izaya reached the top of a hill. The city spread at his back; grey buildings rose between the sparse traces of parks and shone with the sun’s reflection on the skyscrapers’ glass and the train station’s roof, now toy-sized with distance. Beads of sweat moistened his hairline and made the creased shirt cling onto his back, the air heavy and humid. All in all, he bet he looked pathetic. 

He limped, and he did nothing to conceal it anymore. He had walked for so long that the ache dug deep into his knee, and now it stung as though something was chewing flesh and bones from the inside. For a moment Shizuo’s worried face flashed through his mind. _Let me help you_ , Shizuo would say, and without waiting for an answer he would grab Izaya around the waist, pass Izaya’s arm over his shoulder and carry almost all his weight. Izaya started laughing under his breath, thirst and exhaustion making his voice hoarse. He laughed because he had spent an hour and a half with that van freak, almost half a day on a stinky train, he had walked so damn far, yet it was as though Shizuo had followed him all the way here. Shizuo wasn’t physically at his side, but the thought of him reached Izaya everywhere, no matter where he ran, no matter where he hid. It was like an uncomfortable backpack, one so full that there was always something poking at his back no matter how much he readjusted the content. Though… it didn’t feel heavy at all. Quite the contrary, Izaya still felt that same unsettling lightness in his chest, every time he thought of Shizuo. He refused, though, to name it, that emotion slipping through his self control. _That beast_ , he thought between the fits of hysterical laughs. _I don’t like him at all._

Ahead of him, a manor grew into view out of the disheveled grass. Many seasons had passed by since the last time Izaya saw it, and in the interim, time had picked at it like vultures on remains, until grey stones peaked through the brittle yellow paint of the façade. Izaya ran his eyes down to the entry door, traced the doorknob with the palm of his hand, and curled his fingers around it, recalling its shape, the sensation of cold brass on his skin. He turned it and pushed -- locked. 

He searched for the Swiss army knife in his pocket to use one of its tools to force the lock open, only to remember he had thrown it at Shizuo yesterday evening along with all the knives in the cutlery drawer. The graphite in the pencil he had bought before could lubricate the lock (if only he managed to separate it from the wooden part) though he still lacked something thin and sharp to catch the lock, like a bobby pin or a paper clip. Izaya sharpened his eyes and started chewing on his lower lip, tasting blood as the motion reopened the cut. If he only had Shizuo’s strength, he would tear the hardwood door down with a push of his shoulder but, since he didn’t, the windows of the ground floor looked like the best choice. The shutters broke like cardboard in his hands and, behind them, lay the last outpost of the house: a thin pane of glass. Izaya looked around for a rock, and when his gaze fell on the bushes between the pine trees an unsettling melancholy balled up in his chest. He breathed out, and wiped it away.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?”

Izaya jolted. A man had materialized out of thin air behind him -- Izaya hadn’t caught the sound of steps approaching, despite the fact that, from what he would tell, this was a pretty large guy. The stranger’s hair was dark grey and combed in two little horns on both sides of his head in a kind of Wolverine fashion. It would seem almost cool, if only the man himself didn’t have a face crisscrossed with scars, as though someone had exchanged his skin for a chopping board – a face currently wearing a killer expression that didn’t bode well for Izaya.

“Hah?! Who the hell are you s’posed to be?” the man barked, leaning closer.

“I’m Orihara Izaya. Shirou’s son,” Izaya replied, not giving in an inch. “This is _my_ house, so… Who might you be?”

The man lifted a brow. “I’m Aozaki, the guardian here until my boss comes back. And like hell I’m gonna let a little thief like you break into this goddamn house. Because you ignore a pretty important stuff, my dear thief—“Aozaki pulled out a nine caliber gun, and pointed it between Izaya’s eyebrows. He grinned. “Everyone knows that Orihara Izaya is dead.”

Izaya clicked his tongue as he lifted his hands above his head. “I’m not a thief, I just don’t have the key, because I gave it to your boss before leaving for my last mission. And you can see a mile off that I’m alive and breathing, can’t you?”

Aozaki pressed the gun against Izaya’s forehead. “Not for long.”

“Wait, wait, not so fast… Listen. Why don’t you go ahead and call your boss so he can identify me? Think about it, wouldn’t it be a huge mistake if you shoot the owner of the house, just because everyone claims that he’s dead? Besides, they never did find it, did they? Orihara Izaya’s body, I mean.”

It worked. Aozaki stepped back, though he didn’t put the gun back in its holster. “Fine,” he said. “I’m gonna call him, but you’ll kneel with your hands on your headuntil he identifies you, and if you’re not who you tell you are I’m gonna stick a bullet in your pretty head for good.”

Izaya shrugged. “Do as you wish,” he mumbled, biting on his lower lip when he sank to the ground.

The city lights had begun to gleam steadily in the crisp night air when he finally heard the roar of an engine and the sound of wheels on gravel. Eventually, headlights flicked up the darkened hill, approaching fast and then coming to a sudden stop. 

A male figure got out of a black sedan. He was a dark-haired man in his mid-thirties, dressed in a white suit and a black collared shirt. A flashy golden chain shone around his neck. “Hello! Nice to see you again,” Izaya said, and the man stopped walking, as though those words alone managed to petrify him. 

Izaya outstretched arms. “Did you miss me, Shiki-san?”

Instead of hugging him, the man called Shiki grabbed Izaya at his shirt collar, violently pulling him to his feet. Deep wrinkles settled on the man’s face as he frowned. Izaya flinched. He was exhausted and his injured knee hurt too much to make him stand upright.

Aozaki pressed the gun on the back of Izaya’s head, barking: “Can I shoot him now, Shiki-no-danna?”

“No, it’s _him_ ,” Shiki hissed, glancing at his subordinate for only a moment. Then his black eyes fell back on Izaya and the scowl deepened even more. “I thought you were dead. Why didn’t you call?”

Izaya smiled. “Well, what matters is that I’m alive, ne? But I won’t be alive for long if you don’t call off your underling here.” He stretched his hand toward Aozaki. “I would like to have my keys, please.”

Only after he had received a nod from Shiki himself did Aozaki reluctantly give up the keys. He threw them at Izaya, who caught them in one hand. “Thank you,” Izaya said, and his smile turned into a smirk.

Past the entrance hall, a dark hallway stretched out. It was the one Izaya saw in his nightmares, though devoid of the underlying dread and the sense of dreaming. The walls weren’t burning, the ceiling was dark but still visible and there weren’t golden letters drawn under the doors that opened on both sides. It looked harmless, and he knew that his mother, disguised as a Dullahan, wouldn’t be hiding in the room to which he headed.

The third door to the right opened to his father’s study. It still was an impressive room, even if more than a decade of neglect had taken its toll. Shelves lined the walls, full of beautiful ancient books, but the spines wore a thick layer of dust that had never been polished off; that layer of grime now covered everything from floor to ceiling. At first glance, the painting above Izaya’s head appeared to be a dull light-blue color, but with closer look he recognized a sky, drawn on a plaster that had started to fall to pieces on the once fluffy scarlet carpet, now littered with dents and faded to pink. The marble chessboard wasn’t there anymore, either. That rested somewhere between burned trees in the wild lands, forever lost. 

His father’s executive desk was the only thing that time didn’t manage to consume. It still stood like a votive altar in the middle of the room, like it had always been, even in Izaya’s faraway memories, untouched and untouchable. Its original form was mahogany trees severed from a forest on the edge of the wild lands, that had been sculpted with hundreds of mythological beings all entangled on the wooden surface. Izaya flinched in pain when he kneeled down beside the figure of a headless woman dressed in a long Victorian dress. He narrowed his eyes, the corners of his mouth curling up when he traced with his fingertips the severed head she carried under her arm. _Soon,_ he thought _. Wait for me, Celty._

Izaya heard the sound of Shiki’s leather shoes crossing the carpet, and when the older man stopped behind him, Izaya smelled the scent of his expensive cologne, tobacco and something deliciously twisted -- self-hatred, regret and unrequited love. 

Shiki asked: “Your leg. Was it the fire or did they shoot you?” 

Izaya got up to lean his weight on the desk. “I’m fine now, I don’t feel like lingering on details. Besides, you’re not part of my family nor my tutor--” He tilted his chin up, eyes half-closed, locked with Shiki’s. A smile crept on his lips, and his voice was low and smooth when he said: “It’s not like we’re friends either. We just fucked every now and then.”

Shiki scowled, and Izaya swore he had caught a glimpse of anger in his gaze. Izaya liked humans like him. Shiki was an old flame that Izaya used to enjoy, one he could control. It was safe, subdued like the one in a fireplace. Izaya warmed up when he felt like it, and distanced himself when he had enough. Sex with a man like Shiki was satisfying, yet it had never touched Izaya’s heart. When he was in his teens, Izaya had slept with women and had found it pleasurable, but when he grew up he discovered that there was something thrilling in walking on the line between pain and pleasure pretending to be at someone’s mercy. It was like walking on a balustrade at the top of a skyscraper, but unless you’re suicidal (or just very stupid) you hop on it only if you trust your balance. Control was everything in these situations, otherwise you’d become nothing more than a splotch on asphalt. That was why he liked men like Shiki the most; it was a thrilling win-win situation. He had control and, as a lover, Shiki reminded Izaya of how Shizuo acted during their chases – violent, selfish, burning with hate even stronger than love. For Izaya, this was water in the desert.

Izaya stared into Shiki’s eyes, and pressed his index finger between his eyebrows – the touch was poised, the pressure perfectly studied. “Don’t frown like this,” Izaya teased, his voice deep. “It makes you look older.”

“I’ve got my reasons to frown. What about your responsibilities? You left us alone dealing with an enemy that had totally thrashed us. You disappeared and we all thought you were dead. And now you pop up out of nowhere, without calling or even asking for the keys beforehand, looking _like this_ , after who know how you survived. Do you at least plan to stay?”

“If you want I’ll help you to plan a counterattack,” Izaya replied, leaning back on the desk.“But I don’t plan to stay here nor to go back to my old job. Eventually I’ll leave.”

“Is there a good reason?”

“Yes.”

Shiki exhaled. “It always shocks me how selfish you are.”

“It’s quite the contrary Shiki-san. Do you call me selfish because I live following my desires? I don’t bend anyone to them, I just observe, and I swear that I would feel so blessed to spend eternity watching my beloved humans without worrying about my human self, without bothersome things like emotions...”

“That’s wishful thinking.”

“Oh no,” Izaya said, and headed toward the library. He remembered where he put that book he was looking for. He blew away the dust that had piled up on the back like dirty snow. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Shiki shook his head, and headed outside the room. “Take your time,” he said. “I’m going to bring here my stuff.”

Izaya nodded. Now that he thought about it, that was the book he was reading when he met Shiki for the first time. It was the last book he read in this room before he left this place for more than ten years. He caressed the yellowed pages tenderly, and a smile stretched his lips in a tense bow.


	17. Miles and miles

It was an autumn morning about ten years ago. A faint, metallic light peeked out from the cracked clouds and the air was chilly, smelling like incense blended with the moisture that lingers after a rainstorm. Shiki drew in a deep breath and knocked at the wooden entry door. Though he heard people talking inside, nobody came to open the door, so he turned the brass doorknob and pushed. The door opened. 

A small crowd chatted in the entrance hall – maids, the butlers, a cook, others Shiki struggled to recognize but who might have been private teachers. The sight of their luggage scattered at their feet felt like a touch of reality, tangible under his fingers like those leather bags that had been filled to overflowing. The telephone call Shiki had received hadn’t been a sick joke. Orihara Shirou, thirty-eight years old widower, had been in a car accident. He lost control of his car, crashed against the guardrail, broke it and tumbled down the hill. When the car stopped, witnesses said that part of it looked like crumpled tinfoil. The voice at the other side of the telephone told Shiki that the police was investigating the accident, that there were some theories about how Shirou lost control of his car and hit full speed against the guardrail— _That’s not important now._ Shiki blurted out, interrupting them. _Just tell me if he survived._

Once he had reached Shirou’s manor, Shiki explained to the servants who he was: “I’m Shiki Haruya, I come from the Military Academy where Orihara Shirou worked. I’m here for the kid.”

At the word _kid_ , some of them flinched. “Strange boy,” someone whispered. “I’ve never seen him crying for his parents. Even now, it looks as if he doesn’t care…”

Shiki didn’t linger to listen to their gossips any longer. He didn’t give a damn, he was tired after driving all night and his headache was stiffening like drying concrete. They showed him the way – hallway, third door to the right – and he took his leave.

The third room to the right proved out to be Shirou’s study. Here, a thin, black haired boy about thirteen years old leaned on Shirou’s executive desk. There was an old book in his hands and a marble chessboard lay on the scarlet carpet not far from him. It looked as through the kid was playing chess alone, but when Shiki watched closer, he noticed that there weren’t kings on the chessboard anymore. _What rules is he playing with?_

The boy didn’t lift his gaze from the book when he asked, “Did you know my father?”

“I do know him.”

“Did you know him because of my mother?”

Shiki shook his head. “He was my mentor before he dropped his job to take care of her. My name is Shiki Haruya.”

Izaya closed the book and Shiki managed to read its cover.

It said: “ _The Dullahan: A study of Wild Lands Lore.”_

_ Like father like son _ , he thought wryly. Shirou was a myth and legends enthusiast, willing to spend a fortune collecting old books about the wild lands, not to mention on that intricately carved executive desk where his son sat now. His coworkers teased him mercilessly, for wasting his money on fairy tales. He could have bought a brand new class S Mercedes instead of that creepy ass desk! Shiki found himself smiling at the memories; he didn’t like the jokes, but he enjoyed Shirou’s ironic replies. Shiki admired him.

“Oh, I see… You’re from the Military Academy,” Shirou’s son said.“So I should come with you now, right?”

“Yes.” Shiki paused. It hung oddly in the air what he said next: “If that’s fine by you.”

The boy looked amused when he finally turned his head to Shiki. His eyes were red and almond-shaped like his father, though they lacked the softness Shirou’s had. After a few seconds, he averted the gaze to put the book he was reading back in its place. “That was just out of courtesy, Shiki-san! It’s fine, though, my stuff is all packed up already. Just give me a moment with the chessboard.”

Shiki waited for him outside, leaning on the entry door, and he had half-smoked a cigarette by the time the boy reached him. When they stepped outside, the damp fallen leaves made a soft, accommodating sound under their soles. Midway to his car, the sound of Izaya’s step came to a sudden stop. Shiki followed Izaya’s gaze and saw a black cat peeking from the well-groomed bushes, the fur too dirty and ruffled to be a rich family’s pet. Though the cat had already disappeared behind the bushes, Izaya didn’t avert his gaze. Shiki asked: “Is that your cat?”

“No. She’s a stray coming here from time to time.”

Shiki exhaled smoke. “Do you need some time to tell her goodbye?” 

Izaya shook his head and looked away. “She’ll be fine. There are other families that feed her.”

Neither of them spoke when they sat in Shiki’s car. When he turned the engine on, Shiki could have sworn he caught Izaya casting a sidelong glance at his home in his peripheral vision. Shiki clenched the wheel and pushed his feet on the gas pedal, until the manor disappeared from their sight.

Back then, Shiki had worried for Orihara Izaya: a Military Academy wasn’t a place for kids in first place, and Shirou’s boy studied to become a military strategist like his father so making friends with the recruits was hard – he didn’t sleep in the barracks but in a room all his own, he didn’t attend the standard military training but had private teachers, he didn’t eat the sometimes literal slop on long tables but had decent food served in private rooms. Yet, this isolation didn’t seem like a problem for him. He was a quiet and reserved boy, but not out of shyness. It was more like a reticence, a conscious choice to not get involved if it wasn’t necessary. As a result, he spent his spare time alone, bent over Shirou’s marble chessboard or attending fencing lessons even if, with time, his favorite hobby proved to be walking down the hallways or sitting on the roof, his gaze skimming over people. Sometimes, Izaya joined other soldiers’ conversation, uttering just a few words; other times they tried to harass him, only to regret it a moment later when the harmless-looking kid pulled out a switchblade ( _a katana wouldn’t fit my pockets_ , he’d said) and flaunted his ability to wield said weapon. The reason Shiki’s sympathy never became actual pity lay in the fact that despite the loneliness, the sudden change of habitat, and the loss of both his parents in the span of two years, Shirou’s son showed absolute stability, not the slightest hint of stress, even to an attentive observer. He seemed to adapt just fine to the new environment.

On the other hand, since Shirou’s son came there, the Military Academy had undergone a drastic change. There was something that drew people to that kid. Shiki guessed it didn’t hurt that he was a good-looking boy and a straight A student, but it was more than that -- Izaya’s talent as a strategist was bright, making him stand out no matter what the issue was.

Besides the weekly military meeting they attended together and the mealtime conversations, they managed to spend some time together, beyond just the two times a month he brought Izaya with him to the closest town to visit Shirou at the Kitahara clinic. In a private room, Shirou rested on crisp, cold sheets, bound to stay there, in an endless sleep that looked too much like death. What hurt Shiki wasn’t just seeing Shirou’s cheekbones casting sharp shadows on his once handsome face, or his wrists, grown thinner, or his pallid complexion – Shirou’s kid had never stepped into his father’s hospital room and didn’t plan to do so in the future.

“I can’t understand why you keep visiting my father. It’s been two and a half years already, he may as well be already dead,” Izaya said, unaffected.

Shiki frowned. “For fuck’s sake, he’s your family. You shouldn’t avoid visiting him just because it’s too painful to see him like this.”

“This isn’t about me, Shiki-san. It’s about _you_ ,” Izaya said in a low voice, and he stepped so close that Shiki could smell him. Shiki thought that there was something of Shirou in this Izaya, not in looks because Izaya resembled his mother Kyouko; it was something subtler \-- maybe it was the allure, or the sharp mind, or the habit of looking people straight in the eye -- Shiki couldn’t put his finger on it, he just felt it. 

He scowled when Izaya laid a hand on his chest. This didn’t feel like an attempt to console him at all. Izaya tilted his chin up and stared into Shiki’s eyes. “Don’t frown like that, Shiki-san. It’s fine,” he said, giggling under his breath. Shiki stood as though frozen when Izaya whispered across his lips: “Face your feelings already.” 

That was the last time he brought Izaya with him.

After that episode, Shiki didn’t see him for long time. He accepted assignments abroad, and he had no reason or will to come back to the Academy for long time. He kept visiting Shirou but lost touch with his son. In the meanwhile, Shirou didn’t wake up, and his cheekbones casted even sharper shadows on his face. Sometimes, in the lonely afternoons he spent at the clinic, it struck Shiki that this body was only a phantom of the man Shirou had been, and his hope felt frail, like thin glass creaking under his fingers.

When he finally came back to his old job, the Academy had changed again. In the five years Shiki had been away, Izaya had become a man. He was now powerful, beautiful, rich, and hated.

Both authorities and soldiers disliked him immensely but needed him more, talented as he was -- he had already overshadowed his father in fame. The coworkers who laughed at Shirou’s hobbies flinched at the way his son provided his own fun. Sinister accidents had started to occur in the Academy and the nearby town, and the one thing they had in common was Orihara Izaya. A soldier who held a grudge against his own brother found, under the pillow, a present from a mysterious tooth fairy – a loaded gun. A shy boy in his teens was found crumpled on the ground with both legs broken after he had thrown himself from a three story high building. Two streets gangs fought and an innocent girl ended up being hurt.

Izaya jeopardized his reputation, career, and life for an incomprehensible reason: “I didn’t force those people to do anything, I offered them an _opportunity_ to unleash their feelings and desires. They decided to take it. Why did I do that, hmm? It’s easy: I love humans.”

Shiki didn’t understand him, and what he felt for him was more than annoyance for a kid’s immature behavior. He found Izaya leaning against the balustrade of the main building roof, head pillowed on his bent arm. His head was bowed to observe something, or _someone_ , on the ground.

“Nice to see you again, Shiki-san,” Izaya chirped, without turning. His voice was smooth, and deeper than Shiki remembered, but there was still a childish ring in it. “I’ve quite missed you all these years. What about you? Did you miss me even a bit?”

Shiki knitted his eyebrows. “If you call yourself a philanthropist, why don’t you do something to make people happy instead of destroying their lives?”

Izaya turned to look him in the eye. He had grown so much in the years they had been apart, and Shiki thought that people were right when they said that there was something stunning about him now. Izaya had always been a pretty boy, but adulthood gifted him with something more than a pleasant look – there was a charm intrinsic to his gestures and tone of voice, the one that blooms only when an astounding appearance is paired up with an equally excellent mind. That kind of attractiveness on someone as dangerous as Izaya felt like a beautifully decorated bottle filled with an addictive poison. 

As though he had sensed Shiki’s surprise, Izaya smiled. “I love them both when they’re happy and in pain, Shiki-san. I love them even if they’re tedious or don’t have the courage to change, I love them regardless of the atrocities they committed or will commit. My love touches everyone, unconditionally,” Izaya said, and he looked back to the ground. “Look at _him_ instead, he wants to be human but he’s bound to forever be a beast, and this is the reason why I won’t ever love him. Such a tragic hero he is.”

Shiki glanced over the edge to see what Izaya was staring at: the blond, tall recruit called Heiwajima Shizuo. From what he had heard, Izaya and Shizuo had hated each other from the moment they met. Shiki had been told that Izaya did his best to make his life a hell, and Heiwajima kept trying to kill Izaya on sight, interrupting whatever they were doing and with no regard for Izaya’s higher military rank. 

Shiki exhaled. “Stop tormenting him, you know he’s human.”

“Really? What about that strength of his?”

“Heiwajima Shizuo can’t control his rage, he had to destroy his body over and over to become like this. It’s all written in his folder, and you _never_ miss crucial information.”

Izaya ignored him. There was a cut on his cheek that he hadn’t bother to treat, a wide bruise peeked out from underneath his ripped shirt, and he had scratches and cuts scattered in several places from ankles to fingertips.

From the distance, Shiki saw the blond sit on the ground and pull from his pocket a thin white cylinder. He lit it, inhaled, and coughed. Izaya laughed and sat on the balustrade, kicking his feet. 

“Have you seen him, Shiki-san? He’s smoking! He’s clearly not enjoying it, look at him. Someone must have told him that nicotine has a calming effect. As if tobacco were enough to calm a raging beast!”

“Spare me this bullshit and come down from there already,” Shiki snarled. God, he felt too old for this – how could it be that Izaya seemed more like a child now at twenty than when he was thirteen? Shiki searched for his own carton of cigarettes. In the meanwhile, a black haired boy walked up to Heiwajima Shizuo, and the pair disappeared together. “If you like him and you want him to like you back, stop being an ass and ruining his life.”

Izaya laughed. “Who? Shizu-chan?! I don’t like him, I wish he would die already.”

Shiki lit his cigarette. He tipped his head back, and exhaled smoke. “I don’t understand. You have the power to expel him, you’re cunning enough to make someone kill him without dirtying your hands. Yet he’s still here, safe and sound. None of that makes sense, unless you don’t want to see him dead at all.”

Izaya shook his head. “I don’t want anyone between me and him. He’s my plaything. He’s _mine_ to torment.Someday I’ll kill him, yes, but there’s no rush. The more I wait the better it is, because he just hates me more and more, to the point that he will _never_ hate someone more than me. And _that_ is the best feeling ever.”

“You seem rather obsessed with him, you know that, don’t you?” Shiki could almost hear the sound of the wheels turning in Izaya’s mind. “You can pretend to hate him because him rejecting you would break your heart. You know, you can run away from your emotions, but not from your desires. They will follow you everywhere.”

“Good god,” Izaya murmured. “Hearing love advice from you really grosses me out.”

“Love, hmm? That could be the point, who knows. Maybe you didn’t know how to deal with him rejecting you, so you thought that making him hate you would keep him bound to you forever. What if someday he stops hating you and leaves you behind?”

“If that happens I would ask you for an advice, Shiki-san. After all, you’re abundantly experienced in the matter.” 

“What the hell is this supposed to mean?”

Izaya stepped forward, and pulled the cigarette away from Shiki’s lips. He was so close, Shiki could smell him, the adrenaline from the chase, the scent of his skin and the shampoo he had used. Izaya’s eyes flashed, and the second before he started speaking Shiki sensed that nothing would be the same between Izaya and him again. Rationality blackened out and horror struck him at the sight of his own shadow, which the setting sun had lengthened out into a grotesque, dark being. 

“Too bad my dad wasn’t into men, hmm? Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out, Shiki-san? It’s such a bad idea falling for straight men, especially if they’re married… And it’s even a worse idea keeping your hopes up after all this time, especially since my father is _like that_ at the moment. Unless you’re enjoying this, of course – having my father all to yourself. I wonder if you did something disgusting to him in that hospital room like shaving him or combing his hair--”

Izaya didn’t speak another word, because Shiki hit him before he could. He drove his fist into Izaya’s jaw, and the golden ring Shiki wore on his index finger struck the tender flesh of a lip. When knuckles hit bone, Izaya’s head snapped sideways, making him lose balance and fall to the ground. Shiki felt himself shivering from head to toe as he shifted his gaze from his own hand to Izaya’s frame lying on the ground. He flinched in horror because Izaya’s eyes were narrowed and rigid and hard, while his lips had deformed in a smile that made Shiki understand the painful truth: Izaya had studied him; he was no different from the other humans Izaya liked to mess with. Shiki knew that smirk would last only as long as it took him to hit Izaya again, so he threw himself on top of him, his fist raised, his breath ragged, but when he thought he had managed to make him shut the fuck up, Izaya reacted. And when Izaya moved, Shiki understood he had just made the mistake of his life.

The hand on his chest felt warm and gentle and so damn provoking. Izaya’s messy hair fell on his face. Those red eyes, the same as Shirou’s, watched him, flickering with mischief. 

“Besides, Shiki-san, when will you start coming to terms with that sense of guilt of yours? I know it was suicide, my father’s car couldn’t have slipped because it didn’t start raining until an hour after he crashed, so the asphalt wasn’t wet. The brakes had been put on several times before the impact, but not enough to stop. The police checked to see if he was drunk, or high on drugs, but, come on, he wasn’t the type, he just took a smoke every now and then. I won’t speculate any further, but these are the facts. Quoting you, _I never miss crucial information._ Now, what you probably don’t know, because it’s not written anywhere, is the _reason_ my beloved father tried to kill himself. The reason was that he was way too invested in the relationship with my mother to restart living again. Her death broke him to pieces, made him crumble like sand. Then, of course, when he saw you or he replied to your calls or listened to those jokes about his desk being traded for a Mercedes, he pretended he was fine, and you believed him. I think you feel guilty that you didn’t realize how bad he felt, that he probably felt so overwhelmed in that moment, to think to kill himself off without even bothering to write a letter. Probably you should have helped him, but do you really think that your friendship and _interest_ would have been enough to stop him? My, my, that’s just wishful thinking.“

The next moment, Izaya was so close that Shiki smelled the blood flowing from his lip. Izaya’s voice was low, almost affectionate. “Do you want to humiliate me now, to make me pay for what I said, hmm? It’s understandable. Hit me again if it makes you feel better. Pain doesn’t bother me at all.” 

Shiki’s breath faltered when Izaya’s hand ran down his stomach, searching smoothly for his belt buckle. Izaya surged forward, until Shiki felt hair tickling his cheek and the damp touch of Izaya’s lips on his earlobe.

“Now, Shiki-san, the matter is – do I remind you of my father enough to let you fuck me?” 

Shiki felt his stomach flip in anger, and when he pushed Izaya down on the concrete, Izaya flinched in pain. “Fuck you,” Shiki spat out. “You couldn’t be any more different from him, you will _never_ be like him.” 

He sounded horrified, but he felt a tremor underneath, a dark desire looking too much like a door left slightly ajar. He flinched, and opened it. 

What he remembered next was the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, Izaya’s skin slick with sweat under the palm of his hand, the shape of his body pinned down into the ground. Self-hatred poisoned Shiki’s bloodstream in a perfect blend of lust and anger, and all of this made him feel incredibly disgusting. Izaya’s gaze on him felt as though the little shit was trying to read his train of thought, and Shiki had a sudden revelation: this meant nothing to Izaya – it was just human observation. Izaya came to the point of risking his own life to offer people what he called _opportunities,_ so sex should be such a little price to pay for him… Shiki scowled and tried to hold back, but he had already been dragged over the point where pleasure burned and there was no choice to go back anymore.

Lazy clouds rolled over them, drawing shadows over the roof that the summer sun had overheated and across their entangled bodies. In the distance, soldiers prepared for dinner, their voices sounding far away, as though they belonged to another reality. Under him, so painfully close, Izaya panted and laughed and flinched with each punishing thrust.

“God, what you said before was so flattering--” Izaya’s voice broke as he tipped his head back. He closed his eyes shut, and in that moment the bruises that Heiwajima Shizuo left on Izaya’s body stood out on his pale skinlike Technicolor jewels, badges that Izaya treasured enough to not hide or treat. “I _swear_ it,”  Izaya whispered. “I’ll do everything to not become like him.”

*

Ever since Izaya appeared out of nowhere at his parents’ manor, Shiki had worked with him all day long, devising a new attack against the enemy. Unexpectedly, they worked together just fine. Neither of them ever shifted onto personal topics: Izaya didn’t ask him about Shirou’s condition and Shiki decided to not mention his father until they got their work done; Izaya didn’t try to seduce him and Shiki stopped asking how he had escaped from the fire. They spent their spare time on their own, and even had separate rooms where they bathed and slept.

Shiki never stepped into Izaya’s quarters and Izaya never entered Shiki’s, but Shiki knew that Izaya had trouble sleeping. The rooms weren’t far apart and, in the dead of night, Shiki woke up to the sound of a door being opened, followed by the unmistakable sound of Izaya’s slightly uneven gait limping down the hallway. Izaya returned to his room minutes later, closed the door and cracked open the creaky window shutters, only to close them about an hour later. At first, Shiki thought that Izaya just needed a breath of fresh air, then he swore that the little shit was doing it on purpose to rob him of his sleep, but eventually, Shiki wondered if he should get worried. The fact that he and Izaya weren’t family or friends was no lie, but Shiki was aware that Izaya had always been alone in whatever shitty situation he encountered. Alone enough, that he’d had no one but Shiki to entrust his family’s manor to before he left for that disastrous mission. 

The night they finished revising the plan, Shiki woke to the sound of Izaya’s steps approaching his room. This time, though, he decided to knock at Izaya’s door after their owner had returned to his own quarters.

“Come in,” Izaya said.

When Shiki opened the door, he found Izaya sitting on the windowsill, holding a plain mug on his hands, the wind from the open window ruffling his hair. Izaya wore long pajama pants and a housecoat that had been knotted loosely across his waist. His head rested against the window frame, and his eyes were closed. Shadows had settled under them, growing darker and thicker with each sleepless night he spent. Shiki sat on the bed and pulled out a cigarette.

“Can’t you sleep?” Shiki drawled, searching for the lighter. 

Izaya opened his eyes. Thin horizontal lines appeared between Izaya eyebrows, and though they were fleeting, or maybe a trick of the light, Shiki wondered if Izaya had expected to see someone else.

“The bed is uncomfortable,” Izaya said, regaining his composure. “You know, the pillow is too thin, the mattress too hard…”

When he left the mug on the windowsill to reach for him, Shiki realized he wasn’t supposed to be here if he only wanted to talk. Seriously, what did he expect? That Izaya would confide in him? That was just a delusion; they had never had that kind of relationship. Izaya sat on his lap, close enough for Shiki to smell the coffee he was drinking and the scent of his skin, and pulled the unlit cigarette away from Shiki’s mouth, throwing it somewhere on the bed.

Izaya whispered across his lips, “Now that we’re done with the small-talk, let’s fuck.” 

Izaya arched his back to meet him and Shiki felt lust built up, hard and steady in his groin. He could feel Izaya’s fingers tangle in his hair, the hold firm enough to hurt, so different from the smooth, rational touch Izaya used to seduce him the last time. Shiki slipped his hand under the housecoat Izaya wore, prying it open. He sucked on a spot on Izaya’s neck and Izaya suddenly froze, his chest exposed.

“Wait,” Izaya breathed, and wasn’t laughing or flinching or panting or whatever Izaya usually did when they slept together. His eyes were fixed on the creaked wall at Shiki’s back, watching but not seeing as though it was a gaze focused on the _inside_ , on Izaya himself. On his neck and chest and torso Izaya wore the ghosts of so many kisses… His hard nipples were darker than their usual light pink and rimmed with healing biting marks. Those were signs of passion, of affection maybe, but looked like violence on Izaya’s pale skin. The words slipped from Shiki’s lips before he realized it:

“They look like the bruises that guy used to give you. You know who I’m referring to. Heiwajima Shizuo.”

Izaya’s gaze didn’t move an inch. Eventually, he spoke: “He spared me. He doesn’t hate me anymore--” His ice-cold voice broke to a whisper. “I lost to him.”

“Are you telling me that you’ve been with him all this time? Did you run away from him because he did this to you?”

Izaya didn’t reply to Shiki’s questions. “I don’t care what he feels. I can’t accept anything other than hatred.”

“Or anything _less_. But that’s not the point, I guess…” As Shiki spoke,  Izaya got on his feet and reached the windowsill. Turning his back to Shiki, he took the mug and drank another sip of coffee. “This isn’t about his feelings, right? It’s about _yours_.”

“I’m too tired now, we’ll talk tomorrow,” Izaya replied flatly, and drank the rest of his coffee like it was a tequila shot instead, downing it all in once. “Goodnight.”

“Yeah, goodnight,” Shiki said, and made his way out of the room. “By the way, when you get to see him again, ask him if he wants to join us to attack the enemy. The more the better, especially with that strength of his.” 

“Sure,” Izaya replied. Shiki was on the threshold when Izaya spoke again. “One last thing— Heiwajima Kasuka. Did he survive?”

Shiki shook his head before he turned and walked away. He said, “Nobody came back, Izaya. Only the two of you.”

*

Dawn hadn’t broken yet when Izaya prepared to leave. He wore what looked like a burgundy tuxedo Shiki had already seen on Shirou ages ago. It suited Izaya just fine. Shiki saw from his bedroom window that a taxi waited for Izaya before the gravel gave way to the asphalt. That kid planned to sneak off without even seeing his father or saying goodbye but, after all, Shiki didn’t know what else to say about Shirou or how to convince Izaya to visit him every now and then, and none of them was good with goodbyes anyway.

He wondered when Izaya would finally accept his feelings for Heiwajima. How much more time and effort would he waste? Shiki bet that guy was lodged in Izaya’s mind, and there he cavorted, popping Izaya’s defenses like they were soap bubbles. Hiding in some place or in some self-imposed certainties that totally ignored the facts was useless for Izaya at this point. Izaya could run miles and miles away, yet Heiwajima Shizuo would never leave his thoughts. 

The darkness swallowed Izaya’s frame and Shiki had the sense that he wouldn’t see him ever again.

He pulled out his cigarette package, to chain smoke until he felt like sleeping, and remembered that one of them must still be on Izaya’s bed. When he got there, though, Shiki found no trace of his cigarette. He observed that Izaya had left the room like it had been for all these years. The king size bed had been made, the deep red curtains had been pulled over the window as if to wrap the room back into its sepulchral silence, and the room smelled like stale air and dust once again -- no trace of Izaya’s scent lingered. Only Shirou’s burgundy tuxedo was missing; otherwise there was no sign of Izaya’s temporary return. 

Shiki had just returned to his room when the phone rang. 

“What the hell,” he hissed, casting a sidelong glance at the clock that had just ticked a quarter past five in the morning. “If it’s a prank call I swear that I—“ __

“Am I speaking with Shiki Haruya?” A female voice said.

“Yeah? What’s the matter?” 

“I’m calling from Kitahara clinic; you are currently listed as our emergency contact for our patient Orihara Shirou. Please come to the clinic at your earliest possible convenience.”

The world dropped under Shiki’s feet. “Did something happen?”

“Yes, sir.” The woman said. “He woke up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta Aira Kay and to my dear Su – she’s an endless source of inspiration!


End file.
